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warmblanketwhump · 3 years

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safe enough to fall

a little university-themed thing I wrote using @sicktember prompts: comfort item, sneaky temperature check, medicine, unlikely caregiver, and lightly inspired by these prompts

the grip of the winter’s cold was their constant, unrelenting companion - but sometimes, B just wished it would be a little less faithful.

It doesn’t ease in the morning, when B wakes up coughing with a cold nose and stiff limbs. It stays as B shivers through the lukewarm shower and the hurried layering of clothes over damp, goosebumped skin. It sticks to them like cling wrap on the bus, in the lecture hall, the windy walk to their next class, makes them tense their rattling jaw, and leaves them hunched over and huddled up, desperate to conserve any scrap of heat.

This was a fact of their university existence - that after the pleasant crispness of fall, their poor, scholarship-funded body was plunged into four months of frozen hell. They didn’t like to complain - after all, they were getting a free education. But no one told them how brutal their university’s winters would be, nor that dorm heating was little more than a few puffs of warm air every hour, or that regardless of how many layers they pulled on, they’d be chilled to the bone until late March.

Their final class of the week is in a drafty science lab, and they hold back a groan. The cold's not the only source of their dread - it was the thought of spending 90 minutes with their perky, overly friendly lab partner, A.

A, whose parents were well-off, well-known benefactors of their university. A, who lived in a nice house with proper heating and had the money for a warm winter coat. A, who obliviously chattered on about anything and everything. Besides that, they were just so...happy. All the time.

The can afford to be, B thought miserably. There was no way all that sunshine could be real.

B really tried to tamp down their bitterness, but it was hard to listen to someone gush on about their amazing weekend their family spent on some tropical island when B spent the same weekend wrapped up in blankets, trying to stay warm enough to study their nomenclature notes.

Two minutes before class, A bounds into the lab like a freed golden retriever and begins their usual volley of caffeinated questions, which B responds to in short, clipped answers. Suddenly, the questions stop and A’s brows furrow.

“You look cold. Are you okay?”

B shifts on their stool and tucks their fingers into the sleeves of their worn secondhand coat, pulling it tighter with a shudder. “I am cold. It’s winter.” They cough weakly into their elbow - the nagging cough has gripped them for weeks now.

“Are you sick?”

Direct, then. That was new. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t have a fever or anything.” In truth, they had been feeling a little lower than usual the past couple of days, the chill a little deeper, the aches more pronounced, the cough a bit more painful. But in their book, that was hardly enough call themselves sick. B sniffles and A opens their mouth to comment further, but the professor calls the class to attention, and the moment is gone.

90 minutes later, they’ve got their work cut out for them - a ten-page lab report that’s going to count for nearly a quarter of their final grade. And as luck would have it, it was a partner project, which meant B got to spend more time with the equivalent of human rocket fuel.

“So...do you want to just knock this out tonight?” A's eyes dart around nervously.

B frowns - it’s almost the weekend, and they figured A would have plans with friends this evening. But B sure doesn’t have anything going on., so they don’t protest. “No… I s’pose we should get as much done as possible while it’s still fresh. Want to go to the library?”

“Ugh." A cringes. "Do we have to? That place is like a tomb.”

B huffs indignantly. “It's not that bad," they mumble in a weak defense of their favorite study spot. A shoots them a glare, and B rolls their eyes. "Do you have somewhere better? It's Friday, so most places are closing up.”

“Well, my parents decided to go on some last-minute ski trip to the Alps again, so my place is free," A says as they step out into the biting wind. "Plus, I have a ton of food and it's actually warm in there, unlike these buildings.”

The promise of decent heating and food that wasn't from the dining hall was enough for B. "Fine. Your place." The pair trudge through the bitter wind as the sun begins to set, and soon they arrive at A's parents’ home - a beautiful, winding estate just a couple minutes away from campus. B has to bite their lip to keep their jaw off the ground - in the blustering snow, this place looks straight out of a Christmas card. Another reminder of how they don’t fit in this world.

Will you stop? B chastises themselves. A having money isn't a personal attack on you. Just enjoy the free food, finish the assignment and get over it.

Despite the towering exterior, B's house was quite cozy, colored in warm neutrals and filled with soft, comfortable furniture. Just past the mudroom, they spot a big living room filled with with an enormous overstuffed couch, squashy-looking pillows, and soft throw blankets. Everything about this place screams warm. A rubs their arms, suddenly aware of how cold they are. The heat nearly makes them dizzy, and they can feel the temperature difference as it seeps into their cold skin.

"Want some cocoa?" A tosses their bag into the corner and heads for an electric kettle in the kitchen, and B follows. "It always helps me warm up." B nods. A couple minutes later, A pushes over a steaming mug with the top entirely covered in marshmallows.

B wraps their chilled fingers around the mug and takes a sip, and the warm, rich liquid feels like heaven to their cold body. "That's amazing."

A smiles. "It's the good stuff." They sip in a surprising silence for a few moments, before A sighs in resignation. "As much as I wish this was just a social call, this report isn't gonna write itself." They grab a bag of popcorn and nod their head toward the living room, and B follows dutifully. A flicks on the gas fireplace and tosses B a throw blanket, and the pair gets to work.

------------------------------

After a couple hours of studying, three instances of indignantly thrown popcorn, and a dramatic reading of the periodic table, B realized that they may have misjudged A. Deep down, under the bubbly exterior, A was a genuinely kind, sweet person. It wasn't an act - they just were human sunshine. And the longer they spent time with them, the more B realized they didn't mind their company at all.

"Alright." A drops their pencil and rubs their eyes. "If I have to balance one more equation, my brain's gonna explode. Study break time." A flips on the TV and puts the volume on low.

B leans their head back on the couch and pulls their throw blanket to their chin, trying to ward off the shivery feeling in their core. Despite the heat of the fire, the mug of hot chocolate, and the thick blanket, they just can’t seem to get warm.

Their face feels hot, but their blood feels chilled and heavy, the weight of it making them ache deep down in their bones. B wraps their arms around their knees, trying to rub away the throbbing pain and get some warmth into their skin. They glance out the picture window at the now-blowing snow. It's gonna be a miserable walk home.

"B, you're shivering." A's turning to look at them now.

B startles. "It's-It's nothing. Just a chill." The concern in A's voice triggers their flight response. "I....I should probably get back to the dorms. It’s late–" They're cut off with a hacking cough that leaves them breathless and they wince at the ache in their chest.

"B, it's snowing, and you haven't even had dinner-"

"Where's my jacket?" They push themselves up and toss the throw blanket off, instantly regretting it as the air invades their pocket of hard fought warmth. They’re trembling and dizzy and desperately freezing, but they cannot stay here. Then, the world tilts and they fall back on to the couch. For a moment, they're just laying in an icy, spinning world, trying to catch their breath, when warmth suddenly envelops them.

A's tucking the same thick grey blanket around their shivering form. As they pull away, their hand lightly brushes over B's neck, then freezes. B twists away from the gentle touch, but it’s too late. Realization floods over A's face. Caught. "You lied. You are sick."

B groans, even as their fingers weave into the chunky knit and pull the warm layer closer. "A, please. Just let me go home. I'm probably contagious. You don't want me here."

"B, you look like death warmed over. I'm not sending you out in a blizzard when you're feverish like this. I won't do it." There's a spark in their eyes and a set to A's jaw that dares B to challenge them.

B leans back, defeated. Even though they want nothing more than to run out of this room, they're too weak to stand and too cold to move. So here they'll stay.

It's okay. Someone's here. You can give in now.

No. I can't. I can't let them see me like this.

What choice do you have? You already look awful. Let them help you.

A covers them with another blanket and places a gentle hand on their back, rubbing slowly. The firelight flickers, casting light and shadow across their solemn face. “B. Tell me what you're feeling, and I'll get you what you need.”

B swallows down the rising panic, the helpless vulnerability they feel, and takes a shallow, shaky breath. “I…I guess I just feel….not right. I’m always cold...but it's...worse.” They sniffle weakly, trying to still and order their swirling thoughts. “Chills, fever, cough, sore throat, kinda stuffed up. And it just hurts everywhere.”

A nods slowly, then leaves the room. They return in a few minutes with a few small bottles, carefully scanning the labels and holding them up for B to see.

“Can you take this? Any problems with this one?” B had to take a moment and match the brand names with their usual knockoff brands, but soon they had a couple over the counter medicines picked out, along with something for their cough.

A glances at the medicine labels once more. "This one says to take with food. I've got some leftover chicken and dumpling soup I can heat up - does that sound okay?"

B nods almost imperceptibly. "Sounds wonderful." A gets up to heat the soup, and B feels the anxiety rising in their stomach when they're not in the room with them. A returns with a mug and manages to gently spoon a few sips of broth into B's mouth before B starts falling asleep, clutching the grey blanket even tighter to their shoulders.

A smiles sadly. “That blanket's my favorite whenever I'm not feeling good. It's the best thing you could have to fight off what you’ve got. Trust me.”

B curls into the soft fabric. It was as if the warm environment of the apartment and the comfort of the blanket had been a signal that it was safe to leave survival mode, rest for a moment, open the floodgates that had been holding back whatever had been ailing them for weeks.

After B takes their medicine, A’s eyes shift awkwardly around the room. “So….when you’re sick, do you like having someone with you? Or do you want to be by yourself?”

A sudden rush of emotion crashes over B. They’d so rarely had the choice. It takes all they’ve got not to throw themselves around A and beg them not to leave. “Stay, please,” they ask in a small, trembling voice. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

A smiles halfway and gently pats B’s leg. “Seeing as how I live here, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” They take their spot at the end of the couch and pull B’s legs over their own, flicking the TV to a familiar movie. B tries to keep up with the plot, but they keep falling in and out of a fitful, restless sleep, tossing, turning, unable to get comfortable enough.

When B’s about ready to cry from exhaustion, A’s there, covering them up with another blanket, bringing them a glass of water, gently stroking the damp hair off their forehead before laying a cold cloth over it. They flinch at first, but the cool dampness eases the fire of their fever, even for just a moment. The last thing B remembers before falling unconscious is a gentle hand squeezing theirs.

It could be minutes or hours later when they jolt awake from a fever dream in a cold sweat, choking and coughing. They’ve kicked off their blankets and the cloth is nowhere to be found, but the chills are back in full force. A appears in B’s blurred vision, hand held to B’s forehead. “Poor thing. Your fever’s worse,” they murmur.

B’s still gasping for breath, curled up in the fetal position, body wracked by the shakes as they try force the words through their chattering teeth. “A...It's so cold. I’m so scared.”

If B was more lucid, they’d see something in A’s eyes crack wide open at their weak, fearful cries. A pulls the trusted grey blanket from the floor and wraps it back around B, rubbing their arms to try and make them feel warmer. There's something in the tenderness of the gesture, and B’s panicked gasps turn into soft, quiet sobs. They try and cover their face with one hand, but A’s hand is there, catching their wrist and wiping the tears away with their thumb.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay. We just gotta get through tonight, alright?” A’s voice matches their usual cheery demeanor, but B can see the fear in their own eyes. They don’t know what they’re doing either.

“Why are you helping me?” B whispers in a tear-roughened voice.

A shrugs. "You're sick. You need help. Is it that so surprising?"

B's eyes flash a delirious spark. "You don't get it. I'm a broke scholarship student. I'm nothing like you. I'm not fun, or bubbly, or rich, or any of those things you are, and I don't fit in here. So why?"

B can't stop the words now, every single insecurity laid bare. "Why do you try to talk to me when I'm nothing but rude to you? Why'd you invite me here? Am I just a project to you? Why are you helping me? I'm not worth it!" The words spill out before B can stop them, and the raw hurt in A's eyes nearly rips B's heart out of their chest.

B claps their hand over their mouth, tears flooding their eyes. Now they've done it. They've laid it all out there. A's gonna kick them to the curb. And B won't blame them one bit.

But instead, A just looks at them, and pulls B into a hug. Their voice wavers only a bit as they whisper in B's ear: "You're not a project. You are completely worth being cared for. And you’re not the only one who knows what it feels like to not fit somewhere. Trust me.”

Alone. In a big, empty house. Studying on a Friday night. No plans of their own.

A, are you lonely, too?

Their words are so simple.

And yet they're everything B didn't know they needed to hear. A's got one arm around their shoulders, and one hand threaded through their sweaty, fever-damp hair, and they're cradling B so tightly it’s like they're the one who needs to be held.

B can't find the words to apologize or comfort them back. They're too tired for that. But they wrap their other arm around A and let their head rest on their shoulder. They stay like that for ages until their head begins to drop, and A shifts so they’re both laying down, B curled against A, A’s arm wrapped around their shoulders as they tuck a blanket around them both.

And finally, finally, B lets go. It's safe to fall, this time around. Because for the first time, there's someone there to catch them.

#sickfic #whump #sickfic prompt #whump prompt #cold whump #lol i rewrote this four times #can i just be chill about whump #no #no i cannot #also it’s cooler today #fall means whump weather #I don’t make the rules

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zigtheeortega · 3 years

Text

if we meet again

[part one of the again series]

pairing | bryce x mc

word count | 10k

warnings | mentions of sex, innuendos, drinking.

tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @dakotawinchester, @writinghereandthere, @pixelsandkink, @masquerade-reimagined, @choicesarehard, @nerdferatum, @bobbymckenzie, @agentdumortain, @bryceslahela, @lahellacute, @violinet, @zigsnose, @adamdusmortain, @drsobemoji, @choeries, @houserosario, @plasticdodecagon, @noimarocketman (tagged sideblogs instead of main blogs!)

author’s note | so i recently finished the before trilogy of films, and i really wanted to write something based off of it but in a way that would better encapsulate bryce and my mc spencer! part one consists of years 1 - 4, taking place through their undergrad years at university. this is gonna be a bit of a journey so buckle up!

read on ao3! [disclaimer: ao3 version has smut included, not separate.]

•─────────────────•

year one

The ride from the airport to her parents’ home was long and grueling, the slushy ice pelting the windshield barely passing for snow.

It was practically sub-zero outside, a stark difference between the mid seventies weather she’d just left.

Boarding a plane wearing a tank top and layering as she stepped off was a weird experience to say the least. It was like stepping into another world.

The cookie cutter suburbs were nauseatingly bland. Was this really what her parents wanted?

Sure, they were the typical awestruck immigrant family who were obsessed with the American experience, but to be wholly consumed by it? God she never wanted a roundtrip date to come so fast in her life.

They’d closed on the house faster than she could complain about it, but she couldn’t have done much anyways. They’d packed the house up right before she left for her freshman year of college, so the decision didn’t affect her too much.

The slush came down harder, sounding nearly like hail on the roof of her taxi.

She glanced down at her dirty tennis shoes and grimaced – she dreaded having to lug her suitcase from the taxi to her front door.

When it screeched to a stop, she handed the driver a couple bills (leaving a hefty tip, because hey, it was the holidays) and retrieved her things from the trunk.

Backpack slung over one shoulder, suitcase gripped in her right hand, she braced the freezing wet rain.

The walk from the mailbox to the front door was way longer than she remembered. About halfway up the short stairs, she made a crucial mistake. The ball of her foot caught a patch of ice and she tumbled to the ground.

“Ah, fuck,” she grumbled, twisting her body so she was sitting on the stairs. The rain seeped through her jeans, freezing her ass and thighs.

“Hey, miss, you okay?” A voice called from across the lawn.

Her loose hoodie obstructed her vision, so she couldn’t see the man, but she heard his shoes squelch across the grass as he jogged towards her.

“Here, lemme take that,” he said, grabbing her backpack and suitcase before helping her up with his free hand.

She tossed her hood back to catch a glimpse of the kind stranger, and her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the handsome boy in front of her.

A single dimple appeared on one of his flushed cheeks as he flashed a grin at her, his hair damp from the falling rain. “You good?” He asked again, brown eyes searching hers.

“Uh, yeah, I’m alright. Thanks for coming to help me up,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I’ll help you to the front door. This is your house, right? I’m not aiding and abetting a burglar?” He teased, turning to walk towards her door.

“No, no. My parents live here,” she said, pointing at the house.

“And you don’t?”

“Technically yeah, in between semesters,” she said, shrugging. “Just took my last final this morning.”

“Oh, cool, me too. I made it in a couple hours ago,” he said, gesturing to the house to the left of theirs.

“So, our parents are neighbors?”

He grinned. “You sound disappointed.”

She shook her head, shoving her hands in her pockets. “No, it’s nice to know someone my age around here. They moved into this house right as I was moving into my dorm, so I didn’t get a chance to get to know anyone.”

“I guarantee my parents were the one to sell you this house,” he said, handing her the backpack and rolling her the suitcase.

“Your parents are realtors? That’s cool,” she said, nodding. “They must be great at their jobs if they convinced them to buy the house so fast.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges, his irresistible dimple popping up again. “I don’t know shit about the housing market, stranger.”

She couldn’t hold her giggle back. His laugh was infectious. “I’m the stranger? You ran up to me first.”

“Yeah, but I landed first, so I deem you the stranger,” he said, gently poking her arm. “So, stranger, do you have a name?”

“Spencer Matsuzaki,” she said, holding a hand out, half of her palm covered with the damp wrist of her hoodie.

“Bryce Lahela. Nice to meet you, stranger.”

––––

The first night home wasn’t terrible. She was practically interrogated, though.

She zoned out, slipping into the same routine she always did when she was bombarded with questions about school.

She had to stay neutral and cordial while explaining aspects of her life in grave detail on top of leaving out tons of information for her parents' health. Her parents would go into cardiac arrest if they knew how much she’d drank that semester.

After dinner, she retreated into her room for the night, grimacing at the catalogue-esque decor. Her parents really leaned into the middle class american aesthetic, and she wasn’t fond of it.

She missed living in the city. Their apartment overlooked her favorite movie theater, favorite coffee shop, and the playground of her old elementary school a couple streets over.

She missed being within walking distance of places that harbored her favorite memories. And from her new window, her view was nothing more than the house across the street and a few scattered bare trees.

The only thing she enjoyed about her new house was the balcony in front of her window, just large enough for her to sit comfortably with another person. Not like that was happening anytime soon, though.

She tugged the blanket around her shoulders, trying to fight off the biting cold. She tightened the drawstrings of her hoodie, shielding her headphones from the wind so she could hear her music clearly.

Her thoughts wandered to the boy next door.

Bryce Lahela. Beautiful face, beautiful name.

She couldn’t really put a finger on it, but something about him was so familiar. Like she’d known him for lifetimes already.

God, she admired people with that quality – being able to make someone so comfortable the minute you meet them that they just slip into whatever void you’d needed filling.

Potentially a dangerous quality, but Spencer didn’t let herself think about that possibility.

The snow had let up, the freezing temperature preserving what’d already fallen. She allowed herself a glance over at the Lahela residence, half hoping she’d find him outside.

Thankfully enough, he was exiting the front door with a wide shovel in hand, bundled up properly, unlike when they’d met a couple hours before.

She watched him as he easily shoveled the muddy sludge off of the walkways. It was just quiet enough that she could hear his soft grunts with effort at the initial plunge of the shovel into the snow.

She didn’t mean to stare. But what else was there to watch? The road was quiet, bare, like a car passing by too loudly would break the suburbian immersion.

After he’d shoveled the first pathway leading up to the house, he moved to the driveway – not before he ripped the beanie off of his head, shaking out his golden strands.

She watched unabashedly, trying to figure out how the hell a gorgeous surfer bro straight out of a Hollister ad was living next door.

He squinted in her general direction, throwing up a gloved hand to cover his eyes. A grin spread quickly, and he tossed the shovel to the ground with the other hand, using it to wave.

“Hey, stranger!” He called.

She ducked down, trying to hide her blushing cheeks as his laugh rang out, disrupting the silence.

–––

Ten pages from the end of her crime novel, right before they revealed the killer, a heavy handed knock caused Spencer to jolt nearly a foot into the air from her sitting position on the couch.

She picked up the book that morning, trying to do something productive that’d double as an excuse to get out of conversing with her parents. Eight hours later, give or take, and they’d barely bugged her for meals, let alone awkward small talk.

Shuffling to the door in her pajama pants, she yawned as she yanked the door open, expecting to see a mailman or something of that nature.

Bryce stood there instead, flirty smile and all, dimple pronounced like the cherry on top of his overwhelming attractiveness.

“Am I boring you already? Sheesh,” he teased, shoving his hands in his pockets.

She cut her yawn off, squeezing her eyes shut. “Sorry, I –” She cut herself off with yet another yawn, shaking her head. “Uh, sorry. I know that was probably super ugly.”

He shrugged. “I thought it was cute.”

She tugged her arms around herself, the tank top doing virtually nothing to shield her from the cold. “So… What’s up?”

He grinned, digging in his pocket. “I’m glad you asked.”

He whipped out two tickets, handing them to her. “Light show. You and me. Now.”

“Now?” She asked, eyebrows shooting up to her hairline.

“Yeah, now. What about it?”

She gestured to her outfit. “I’m not dressed.”

“So? Get dressed,” he shrugged again.

She rolled her eyes. “You really think my parents will let me out this late? I came back to a curfew, you know.”

“Oh. We can work around that.”

“How?” She was genuinely baffled by this guy’s confidence.

“Sneak out.”

“Did you… Did you just skip over the part where I hinted at how strict my parents are?”

He shrugged, again. “Worst case scenario, they ground you for the rest of the break. Then you go back to college in a couple weeks, and they can’t boss you around there, so what are you really risking?”

She chewed her lip, contemplating. “I mean, I can’t argue with you on that one.”

“So you’ll come?”

“Yeah. You’re lucky my parents aren’t home right now,” she said, jabbing an accusatory finger at him.

“Like they could resist this face.”

––––

Downtown – or what she presumed was downtown – was overtaken by lights, the edges of the area blocked off, vendors lined up in parking spaces, nets of overhead lights illuminating the huge displays below.

They’d been walking in silence for a while, just soaking it in and basking in the holiday spirit.

Despite her disdain for the town, Spencer loved the way they celebrated the holidays.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” Bryce said a bit suddenly, running off before she had a chance to respond.

“Oh… kay,” Spencer murmured, watching him disappear into the crowd. She tugged at her beanie, raking shaky fingers through her hair.

Bryce was… unwavering. He had such a strong personality and a knack for flirting without meaning to.

To put it in its simplest terms, he made her nervous. Really nervous.

It was like the minute he left her immersion was broken and she realized just how hot he was and that she should be nervous.

Her eyes wandered, trying to alleviate some of her apprehension. She hadn’t been to a community-unifying event like that one before, so watching the families and children prance through the snow was enough to fulfill the soft spot in her heart only classic Christmas movies could fill.

“Here,” Bryce huffed from behind her, breaking her concentration.

She turned at the sound of his voice, flinching when she realized how close he was to her, disposable coffee cup in hand, steam slithering out of the small hole in the lid.

“What’s that?”

“Hot chocolate. I figured you’d want something to warm you up,” he smiled, lifting one shoulder in a lazy shrug.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she said graciously, taking the cup from his hands, warming both by the way their fingers brushed each others’ and the heat from the drink. “Thank you.”

“Ah, no need to thank me. It’s the least I could do after dragging you out here,” he said a bit sheepishly, kicking the toe of his boot into the snow.

“You didn’t drag me out anywhere. You were convincing,” she laughed, taking a small sip of the hot chocolate, revelling in the way it warmed her from the inside out. “Maybe a bit too convincing.”

“I don’t need to know how powerful I am or I’ll let it go to my head,” he winked. “How is it?”

“Delicious.”

He nodded. “Perfect.”

She sipped on her drink in silence for a while, racking her brain to come up with conversation topics.

They’d really only spoken in passing, so what the fuck were they supposed to talk about?

“So… you want to ride the train?” He asked, pointing at the train riding through the town square.

Within minutes they were seated on the train in the caboose – the very last seat. Families were spread out through the first couple cars, then onto couples.

They probably didn’t want toddlers watching high school aged kids swapping spit, so they sent them to the back.

That notion made Spencer nervous. Was she on a date? He hadn’t really specified – hell, he was barely giving her details about where they were going before dragging her out of her house.

The train began to move, slowly riding through the square, the families in the front chatting and the children giggling and waving at the passing patrons.

She chatted with Bryce about nothing in particular, just kind of getting to know each other. She found out he loved baseball, hated night classes, and was a huge fan of pineapple – he could smell it in her shampoo.

She’d just begun to relax before noticing the young couple in front of her lean in for a kiss that turned a bit heated. Her hands were clasped in her lap to keep them from trembling, her breath just as shaky.

A warm arm grazed her shoulders, his arm resting on the top of the seat. There wasn’t any pressure for her to do anything with him. But she kind of wanted to.

She mustered up the courage to flick her gaze in his direction, settling on his soft, pleasant smile, seemingly permanent on Bryce’s features.

“Is this a date?” She blurted, cursing herself immediately.

He didn’t seem phased.

“If you want it to be.”

She definitely did.

––––

The walk to her front door was long, even longer than when she was on her own lugging her belongings through the icy slush.

“I had a really nice time, Bryce,” she said, ambling up the last couple steps.

“Me, too. I’m glad I bought an extra ticket yesterday,” he grinned.

She raised a brow at him, prompting him to continue.

“After I helped you inside I immediately left to go get tickets,” he said bashfully. His cheeks were flushed – from the cold or the admission, she had no idea.

“So you’d had this date planned for a whole day?” She asked, a bit taken aback. He’d definitely painted it out to be a spur of the moment thing, no premeditation in sight.

“So it was a date,” he teased, dimple even more prominent as he spoke.

She scrunched her lips to the side to hide her own smile. “Yeah, I think it was.”

“Can I kiss you?”

She made the grave mistake of breaking eye contact, her gaze darting from his mouth back to his eyes. He closed the gap between them in one step.

“I can’t kiss you in front of my house. My parents could see,” she whispered as his gloved hand flicked her messy strands away from her cheeks.

“You wanna save this for another time?” Her heart couldn’t help but race at his playful tone.

She nodded.

“How long are you gonna be here for break?” He asked. “I wanna see you again.”

“I’ll be here through the week.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pulled her into a hug, warm and enveloping despite the cold. “Goodnight, Spencer. Sweet dreams.”

She was so comfortable, so safe in his grip that when she felt him loosen it, she squeezed him tighter without really meaning to.

It was scary how quickly she’d grown attached to a complete stranger.

“‘Night,” she waved, eyes still trained on him as she closed the door.

––––

It took her way too long to fall asleep that night.

His last question and her agreeance to the terms ran through her head on loop.

She was anticipating what he was going to do next. Excited to see how the rest of her break would look like.

After a restless night, she awoke pretty early, lounging around in bed for way too long, aimlessly scrolling through social media.

A day ago, she’d have been jealous of her friends vacationing at the beach, but… she wasn’t as upset at the idea of being home for break.

She stood up, stretching and popping her limbs, grabbing a hoodie from her luggage to throw on.

As she did, something caught her attention, just at the edge of her peripheral – a folded slip of paper in her window sill.

She grabbed it, unravelling the damp paper, trying to decipher the bleeding ink.

“Had to leave earlier than I thought. Sorry. Not sure when I’ll see you again, so here’s my number.”

The paper had been covered in water for a long while, so long that the number at the bottom was smudged, the hardest to read out of the whole message. She could barely make out the area code, let alone the rest of it.

She crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, deciding she could just head over and ask his parents for his number instead if he’d left for school.

After trudging across the lawn through the snow, she noticed something was a bit off, but decided to push the feeling down and ring the doorbell.

She peered through the glass of their front door, realizing that the lights were off, clothes and boxes and bags strewn across the foyer.

No one was home.

––––

year two

The moment the taxi pulled to a stop in front of her house, her eyes searched the front lawn of the house next door.

The familiar sensation of disappointment lingered, despite her constant chastising to not get her hopes up.

She sat on her balcony for a couple hours a day, the space heater on full blast at her feet, trying not to look desperate as her eyes flickered to and from Bryce’s house.

But no one entered or exited the house all break.

––––

year three

He stared down the bottom of the glass, eyes trained on the milky film the eggnog left behind, the spiced rum shots he’d taken warming his limbs.

The trial had been grueling.

No one could’ve prepared him for the way the legal system chewed him up and spat him out each time he entered the courtroom and sat on the opposite side of the room, avoiding his parents’ cold glares.

He shouldn’t have had to testify against them in the first place, but who else were they going to call to the stand? Keiki? She could barely write her own name, let alone understand her rights.

And she shouldn’t have to see her parents – hell, her whole family – being scrutinized and ripped apart, televised for anyone within a thousand mile radius.

He didn’t know that this town was their escape.

If someone would’ve told him two years ago that his first Christmas in college would’ve left him in shambles, his entire world upturned, he wouldn’t have believed them.

Thank god it was one of the only properties they owned that was untouched by their blood money.

Word had spread to his university students, causing him to have to go into hiding. Did all his work from home, got special permission from the chancellor to move his courses online.

He was forced to stay in Hawaii, juggling court and school on top of the press and the general stress of life – he’d been on autopilot since his parents woke him up in the middle of the night to fly back home.

The moment he finished his finals that semester, he boarded the plane without a second thought.

He needed an escape.

Despite the whirlwind, she was on the back of his mind through it all.

Anytime his life got a little too difficult, his mind roamed to the last time he felt normal – the last 48 hours before everything went to shit.

When he’d touched down he’d entered the empty, dusty house, throwing his things down and trudging next door.

The heavy raps of his knuckles against the wooden door were the only display of confidence he could muster.

Is Spencer here? He asked.

She’s in Europe for break.

Europe.

Of all the places she had to be during the holidays, it had to be across the world.

So he found himself at the bar, a newly 21 year old downing holiday drinks as fast as the bartender could make them.

She’d probably forgotten about him. It’s best he moved on anyways.

––––

year four

Graduation was so close she could taste it.

Yeah, she was drowning in med school applications and coming down from her post MCAT high, but her degree was peeking over the horizon, just within her reach.

She could only afford to visit home for a couple days before she had to roadtrip to a couple med schools to tour and interview.

She’d grown into herself the past three years, gaining confidence she didn’t know she had in her. Countless haircuts, style changes, shifts in interest – anytime she was uncomfortable she reinvented herself. It was freeing as hell.

So… going home was weird. Like she was regressing. She knew she wasn’t, but it didn’t stop the itching feeling that she didn’t belong there.

Her parents convinced her to visit for the holidays since it was her last year before she was truly on her own. The car ride was anxiety inducing – she tried to shove the thoughts to the back of her brain.

It’d been three years. She couldn’t dwell on it anymore. It was just a fun weekend, a spontaneous date, a gorgeous guy. Nothing more than that.

She’d moved on for sure – lots of dates, sloppy bar makeouts, and one night stands – but she couldn’t completely forget about the stranger.

It wasn’t like anything super memorable happened – it was a classic crush because of how confident he was.

Now that she’d started to emulate that same confidence herself, the allure was mostly gone, but she just couldn’t let him go no matter how hard she tried.

This time her eyes flickered to the house next door, gaze lingering a bit longer than she wanted to allow herself to look.

At least on paper she was growing.

–––––

Her first dinner at home was the same as always. She spent most of the time dodging intrusive questions and diplomatically answering as well as she could.

Maybe she should’ve thanked her parents for pressuring her to come home – it was perfect interview preparation and she didn’t have to lift a finger.

Her room was untouched as usual, the decor nauseatingly basic – if she hated it before, she hated it more now.

The suburban life was even farther away from what she’d wanted three years ago. Fast paced city life and a job in a world renowned hospital were her only two goals as far as she was concerned. Anything else could wait.

As she unpacked her toiletries, she found herself glancing at the door to her balcony.

She shook it off, choosing to settle in bed with a warm blanket with her laptop and planner, trying to focus on her diploma application.

––––

She jolted awake, scrubbing the sleeve of her jacket across her cheek, grimacing when she saw streaks of drool on the fabric.

She shuddered a bit, realizing she fell asleep on top of the covers, the room’s temperature absolutely freezing.

The space heater was close by, luckily, so she didn’t have to shuffle far to plug it in, crouching down next to it to rub her hands in front of it.

The window to her balcony was cracked just slightly – it’d probably blown open bc of the wind or something. She pushed herself to her feet again, closing and locking the door, but not before catching a glimpse of a light. It wasn’t a streetlight. It was a porch light.

She flung the door open and stepped onto the balcony, ignoring the snow seeping through her fuzzy socks, numbing her toes.

Bryce’s lights were on, and fresh tire tracks trailed up the driveway to the garage.

––––

She tossed and turned that night, a little glad that she’d gotten at least some sleep in the form of a nap.

She gave up after a while, brewing coffee and sitting in the kitchen with her laptop for a couple of hours before her parents awoke.

When they finally woke up, she practically jumped at the chance to ask them about him.

“No one’s lived next door for years. Someone comes and checks up on it once or twice a year, but other than that, it’s vacant,” her mother said, elbows deep in a sink full of dirty plates.

She was thankful her mom was preoccupied so she wouldn’t see her deflate.

––––

Spencer allowed herself approximately thirty minutes of sulking before she made a to-do list of everything she needed to get done before noon.

She’d been home for less than a day and she was already itching to get out.

The drive from her parents’ house to the tiny coffee shop was short, the handful of tables inside bare. She guessed it was because most people were at home enjoying spending time with family – she was the odd one out for having her planner and laptop splayed across the table.

She was neck deep in a chem textbook when she saw him.

He was more chiseled. Taller, too.

The beanie was tugged tight around his head, cheeks flushed. The quarter zip up fit him like a glove, hugging every single muscle.

He slipped his gloves off, tucking them into his pocket, squinting – probably trying to decipher the inane pun names for each drink.

“Can I get a, uh, latte with a couple espresso shots?” She heard him ask, peeking over the top of her textbook, trying to get a good look at him.

He chuckled pretty suddenly, pointing at the clear display of pastries. “Add one of those little things onto it.”

“You mean the ‘Rudolph Red Velvet’ cake pop or the ‘Dasher & Dancer Dark Chocolate’, sir?” The teen said.

His grin stretched even wider, hunching over to read the labels. “Can you tell me the rest of the flavors?”

“Well, we’ve got the full setup of reindeers. It gets pretty confusing at times – ’Dasher & Dancer Dark Chocolate’, ‘Prancer & Vixen Vanilla’, ‘Comet & Cupid Cheesecake’, ‘Donner & Blitzen Berry’, and ‘Rudolph Red Velvet’,” the teen listed off, pointing at the nearly identical cake pops.

He laughed, booming throughout the small room, ringing out even over the blenders.

Yeah, that was Bryce. No doubt about it.

“Give me one of each,” he said, handing the teen a couple bills. While they counted the change, Bryce tossed a $20 bill onto the counter. “This is compensation for having to read those god awful names.”

They mirrored his expression, pocketing the bill.

Spencer was nearly frozen with fear – she didn’t think she was going to run into him. She looked frumpy and felt exhausted, and was a little frustrated at how little she understood from the passages she’d tried deciphering.

She stood up, then sat down immediately. She stood up again, conflicted.

But before she could decide what to do, he turned, coffee in hand, bag of cake pops in the other – one cake pop tucked deep into his cheek.

She saw him.

He saw her.

Time slowed.

She was grateful that he was the first to move towards her, eyes bright, gaze soft like he’d seen an old friend – God, that reaction alone was enough to make Spencer float above the clouds.

He chewed his cake pop on the way over, setting down his bag and coffee near the edge of the table out of the way of her mess.

“Hey,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food, chewing vigorously.

“Bryce, oh my god, I – I thought I’d never see you again – you just disappeared and –”

He held up a hand, swallowing. “What’d you say?”

“Oh, I said that I thought I’d never see you again –”

“Wait, wait,” he flipped the side of his beanie up, revealing wireless headphones, which he tugged out and immediately pocketed.

Christ. Embarrassing. Her cheeks burned, inwardly cringing. This is going so swimmingly, Spencer.

He shook his head incredulously, mouth moving like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

“I… didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, eyes slowly raking over her features.

“Oh my god, I didn’t think I’d see you, Bryce,” she said, nervously adjusting her glasses. Good thing he didn’t notice her recycling sentiments.

“So… how have you been?” He smiled, taking a sip of his latte.

He was playing this way cooler than she was. How was he not freaking the fuck out?

“I’ve been good. Uh, good and kinda busy I guess. I’m waiting to hear back from a couple of med schools and I’m graduating this spring, so I’m excited about that,” she said, trying and failing to figure out how to condense three years worth of personal growth into a couple sentences without boring him to tears. “What about you?”

He nodded, tipping back the steaming latte again. “I’ve been pretty good. Got into my dream med school and it’s, like, across the country from where I am now, so that’ll be good for me. Fresh start, you know?”

She gave him a slight smile, closing her textbook and stacking her planner on top of it.

“Oh, I was just picking this stuff up, so I can let you get back to studying,” he said, unsure, jabbing his thumb towards the door.

“No, no, I was closing it so I can give you my full attention,” she explained, shaking her head. “Just getting some random stuff done. I’m fine.”

He relaxed a bit more at that, settling into his seat like he was at home. “So… what are you working on?”

“I’m getting some last stuff done before I leave this weekend. Just some basic housekeeping. Ironing out details, you know,” she nodded, fiddling with the frayed hole on the hem of her hoodie.

He was trying to jump back in like everything was… normal. This wasn’t normal.

“Oh you’re leaving?” He seemed disappointed, a wrinkle forming between his brows where he pushed them together.

“Yeah, I’m using part of my break to fit in some last minute tours and interviews.”

“Oh… Well if you’re leaving soon, do you wanna do dinner at my place tonight?” He asked. “I feel like we’d be more comfortable catching up there.”

A… date? After all these years? And he still knows literally nothing about me?

––––

She chewed her lip, trying to hold back a smile.

His pulse raced, wondering if she’d reject him. He should’ve thought it through before blurting out a question like that. He’d spoken to her for all of five minutes and he was already asking her to go back to his place.

“So… is this a date?”

The mischievous look on her face was contagious – just a hint of flirtatious teasing like the first time they met.

“Yeah, but only if you want it to be,” he answered, tossing the drink back again, the liquid warming his insides (his morning run was long, and the wind was biting).

“And if I don’t?” She adjusted her glasses again, the only sign of tension amidst her otherwise calm demeanor.

And if he hadn’t ran through the memories of that night over and over, fixating on every little detail he managed to retain, he might’ve not caught it.

Her nervousness was a comfort – It meant she still liked him enough to be on edge around him.

“Then we’re just two neighbors catching up while eating food,” he shrugged, popping another cake pop in his mouth.

He held the bag out to her. “Want one?”

She peered over into the bag, lashes gently brushing her under eyes. “Will you get mad if I take Rudolph?”

God, she was so fucking pretty. He couldn’t get over it. All these years and she only managed to get hotter.

“Why would that bother me?” He mumbled through his mouth full of cake.

“He’s supposed to be special, right? I just thought you’d want him,” she said, crossing her arms on the table and leaning in more.

He sat up, leaning an elbow on the table, tipping forward to close the gap between them – he plucked the cake pop from the bag by its stick, waving it in front of her face.

She didn’t retreat. The only reaction was the color rising to her cheeks, a hint of rouge beneath the spatter of light freckles on her face – the ones that no one could see unless they were this close.

“You’re special, too, y’know,” he said, pushing the limits even more, bringing it to her lips. “Take it.”

He was egging her on, testing whatever change she’d clearly been through – underneath the confidence lurked something sultry that he desperately wanted to bring out of her.

She leaned forward and lowered her mouth around the pop, sinking her teeth into the stick, her lips grazing the tips of Bryce’s fingers.

She pulled back, chewing through a smile. “Yum.”

His stomach flipped, but he kept his poker face even.

It was odd, having this girl in front of him that he’d thought about for years when he’d convinced himself it was a fluke or a dream or a little bit of both.

They both chewed in silence, eyes still firmly locked on each other.

There was so much he needed to say but it just wasn’t the right time.

“What time should I come over?” She asked after swallowing.

“When do you usually eat dinner?”

She rolled her eyes at him, still trying to hold back a smile even though she clearly found him mildly entertaining if not infuriating as hell (which was an attitude he thrived off of).

“I don’t care, Spence. Whenever you want.”

––––

Bryce tapped his foot, adjusting the napkins and cutlery for the hundredth time before pacing towards the monitor that showed him the front door’s security cam.

He should not have told her to come over whenever. The delivery guy was stuck in traffic, so his whole plan of pretending like he cooked was thwarted by the icy roads.

He checked the delivery app for the millionth time, the time remaining still stuck on “14 minutes”.

Was a button up with slacks too much for dinner? Christ, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually been nervous before a date.

He wasn’t sure if it ever had happened before, because it didn’t happen.

He wasn’t afraid of shooting his shot with anyone. That cute guy at the gym? No hesitation. His bio lab partner sophomore year? Of course. The ex-girlfriend of the one fraternity brother he didn’t like? Yup. That one fraternity brother he really liked? Hell yeah.

There wasn’t a time that he he actually had to try to get someone to like him – his conquests weren’t really conquests. They’d always just kind of… fallen into his lap, for lack of a better phrase.

But he also couldn’t name a single person he’d “pined” for, whatever that meant. Spencer was the first girl that had slipped through his fingers – maybe this date would be closure. If she was down to fuck, maybe they’d get the weird three-year-long outstanding “what if?” question answered.

He filled the bucket with ice, neatly digging the champagne bottle’s base into it, even grabbing a rag to wipe the perspiration off the metal to buy some time.

A few more minutes passed. When he checked the app again, it’d changed to “13 minutes”, and Spencer was walking down his driveway.

Even on the grainy screen he could tell that whatever she had on was gonna drive him wild.

He strode towards the door, flinging it open to greet her.

“Hey, Spencer,” he grinned, opening his arms wide for a hug.

She matched his expression with a sweet smile of her own, slipping into his grip and molding herself against his body like she belonged there.

Fuck, she smelled delicious. Her hair, her lip gloss, her perfume – everything about her was delectable and made holding back all the more harder.

“Hey, Bryce,” she murmured, squeezing him. “It’s cold. Can we move inside?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Sorry about that,” he apologized, pulling back but keeping his palm on her lower back, shutting and locking the door behind him.

She walked into the main corridor, just kind of… observing. Taking everything in.

“Huh.”

“What do you mean, ‘huh’?” He asked, glancing down at her discreetly.

“It’s… nice. I can tell it’s your parents’ house.”

He chuckled, surprised. “Yeah, but what is that supposed to mean?”

“None of your personality is in this house. I figured it’d be brighter. Less marble, too,” she said, gesturing towards the decorations straight from a catalogue sprinkled throughout the house.

He couldn’t help that his parents insisted on flying out their personal interior designer to every house they owned. But it didn’t make it any less cringe worthy.

“No, you’re right,” he nodded, shrugging. “Can’t argue with that.”

He gently steered them towards the kitchen, his eyes flitting towards her as she scanned the house, a pleasant enough look on her face.

“What would you change about this house?” She asked, sliding onto one of the never-been-used barstools.

“Well, for one, I wouldn’t even have it in the first place,” he said, opening the cabinet next to the fridge, retrieving the champagne glasses.

“Really?”

“Really. If I had it my way, we would’ve never left Maui.”

She nodded, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

Setting the glasses down in front of her, he stood on the other side of the counter, grabbing the bottle by its neck, unravelling the wrapping on the outside. “Hope this is alright. I just picked a bottle that looked expensive.”

“Expensive doesn’t mean better,” she said, eyes trained on the bottle, probably trying to read the label.

“You’re right, again. Two for two,” he joked, sliding the cork from the opening with a loud “pop”, the sound ricocheting off the walls and flooring.

After pouring it, he cocked his head her way, encouraging her to take the first sip.

She tipped the glass back, her nose scrunching after taking a deep swallow. “Mmmm. I would’ve settled for the shitty boxed wine I drank in college over this.”

He took a sip and shook his head, sticking his tongue out with a grimace. “Yeah, this tastes like ass.”

She snorted, covering her mouth as she laughed, making a breathy choking sound that he found oddly endearing.

“To answer your question, I’d probably paint the walls yellow. Hang up my grandpa’s old surfboard my dad passed down to me, if I can even find it. Maybe some movie posters,” he continued, gesturing towards the deadspace on the walls in the kitchen.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I pictured, too,” she hummed, shivering after downing the rest of the glass.

“You don’t have to drink anymore. We agreed it tastes like shit,” he walked over to the cabinet, browsing the bottles, nearly empty. “I only have… a little bit of tequila and some rum.”

“I’ll take a rum and coke then,” she smiled gratefully, pushing the empty glass to the side.

While making the drinks, he checked his phone, hoping that the driver was close by. No luck – the time hadn’t shifted.

“So… when’s the delivery guy getting here?”

He could sense her behind him. When he turned to offer her a glass, he realized just how close she was.

She accepted the glass, craning her neck around him to look at his phone’s screen. “I knew it.”

“What? What’d you know?” He asked, unable to look anywhere but her plush lips, curved upwards into a grin.

She was life-ruiningly pretty. It was like God himself scanned Bryce’s brain and 3D copied his fantasies into the form of Spencer Matsuzaki, who was quite literally the girl of his dreams.

“I knew you weren’t a cooking type. I figured you were gonna get takeout, and I was right,” she pointed at his screen, the delivery app still open.

“Yeah, I was gonna try to impress you and pretend that I’d cooked everything but clearly that didn’t pan out,” he chuckled, peering down at her.

“That’s the oldest trick in the book, Bryce. I would’ve easily clocked that,” she shook her head, taking a quick sip of her drink, still standing close enough to him that he could feel her breath on him each time she laughed.

Before he dropped everything and propositioned her right there to take it to the living room, she turned on her heel and walked back towards her stool.

They sipped their drinks in silence, an air of awkwardness settling into the atmosphere – for the first time in, well, years they were completely and utterly alone.

She chewed her lip, swiping her thumb across the perspiration on the cup. “So…”

“So?”

“I feel like we have a lot of ground to cover.”

He nodded. “I guess the question now is ‘where do we start?’”

“We could just ask each other stuff and see how that goes.”

“I’ll go first – are you still single?”

A laugh ripped from her chest, bounding off the walls and floor, filling up the space with sound (one that was quickly becoming his favorite).

“That’s the first thing you ask me? After all these years?” She asked incredulously, shaking her head in awe.

He grinned. “Sounds like you’re avoiding the question.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Avoiding the question? Or you’re single?” He teased.

“I’m not seeing anyone at the moment, no.”

“Oh, at the moment. Seems like I’ve got some competition.”

Laughing, she tipped her head back to take a deep gulp. He watched as she did, a bit envious of the glass wrapped between her fingers and the rim caught between her lips.

She was a bit more timid when she drank the hot chocolate he offered her years before, cupping it with both hands and taking soft sips, smiling shyly, like being offered a drink on a date was something she should be grateful for.

The way she held herself was different. Before, it was like she was apologetic for taking up too much space, but this version of Spencer took the world by storm – like when she walked into the room, she claimed the space as her own before anyone else could tell her differently.

Whatever miniscule reservations he had about sleeping with her were out the window before she set her glass back down.

“I’m assuming you don’t have anyone at home waiting for you if you asked me that first,” she said, bluntly, chewing on a piece of ice.

“What makes you say that?” “Well you’re obviously gauging whether or not you want to fuck me tonight so I might as well be as upfront as you,” she shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

“Is that so?” He quirked a brow at her. “Would you count frequent hookups?”

“Nope. I’ve got those, too, but I don’t count ‘em.”

“So you turned out to be pretty wild, huh?”

She laughed. “I hope you realize how weird you sound. I’m not who I was at 18. Shit, and you barely even knew me then!”

He held his hands up in protest. “My bad.”

She tapped her nails on the counter, looking a bit conflicted. “No, it’s okay. Just a bit of a sensitive topic, I guess.”

“Parents, huh?”

“Yep. Don’t quite approve of who I am, even though I’m literally going to be studying to be a doctor,” she rolled her eyes. “I did get pretty wild, though. I mean, I had to get it out of my system before med school, you know?”

He shrugged. “Totally understandable.”

“Speaking of, why aren’t yours here? I figured I was going to accidentally run into them or something,” she mused, crunching on another ice cube.

He tried hiding his reaction, but he couldn’t help the way he tensed up at the mere mention of them. The thought of her bringing them up crossed his mind before, so thankfully he was able to keep it moving.

“Oh, they moved back to Hawaii a while ago. Been waiting to put this house on the market but it just didn’t seem like the right time.”

“So why aren’t you with them for the holidays?”

He stiffened, racking his brain for a believable lie. There was no fucking way he was baring his soul to the girl that just stepped back into his life.

She was the last good memory he had before everything went to shit, so he couldn’t break the illusion. Spencer was too good for this – maybe too good for him.

Court baggage was a heavy load to bear. Criminal baggage was even heavier. Lying to save face was the only way he could protect them both.

“Oh, it was just cheaper for me to stay here than fly back to Hawaii.”

She nodded, seemingly in agreeance, swirling the last bit of ice around her glass before tipping it back again. “S’good you get a little peace and quiet between semesters.”

“You have no idea,” he breathed, practically sighing in relief, thankful the crisis was averted.

“I do have a question, though,” she said, setting the glass down and pushing it away from her. “Why did you leave your number on my window sill?”

He leaned over the counter, bracing his arms against it. “So you did see it.”

“You’re lucky I found it! You could not have chosen a worse place to put it.”

“Well, you used to always walk out on your balcony so I thought it’d be safe.”

She pursed her lips, seemingly holding back a smile. “You remember that?”

“Yeah, of course. Why didn’t you, you know, use the number, though?” He asked, teasing.

Her mouth popped open, looking almost offended by his words. “Oh my god, you think if I had your number we still wouldn’t have talked for three years?”

“When you put it that way, I guess it doesn’t make sense,” he laughed, taking a swig of his drink.

“No, but I can’t get over that – you thought this entire time that I just didn’t try to contact you? Bryce, you offered to kiss me before literally disappearing into the night – you thought I wouldn’t have at least, you know, tried following up on that?” Spencer was giggling in between her words, barely able to get it out of her system.

“Yeah, well, you think I didn’t want to follow up on the kiss either? I’m the one who offered!”

They were cutting up, both leaning over the counter, folded over in laughter. They’d shifted closer as they got more comfortable with each other, their arms nearly grazing each others’ over the cold granite.

God, she was so beautiful. Everything he felt when he met her three years ago was pretty much amplified. He had it bad for her.

When she noticed how close they were, her eyes flitted to his lips, tongue darting out to wet her own.

“You wanna cash in on that now? I heard that ‘Bryce Lahela Kiss Coupons’ never expire,” he said, voice low, reaching out to swipe the pad of his thumb over her chin.

“Bryce…” she said, closing her eyes, before leaning back to put some distance between them. “We have to lay some ground rules first.”

He sighed, standing up at his full height. “Okay, shoot.”

“I’m not trying to go all analytical on you, but we have to get this out of the way first. Tell me where your top three med schools are.”

A snort escaped him before he could stop himself. “What, do you only fuck guys that go to –”

“– And girls –”

“And girls – that go to John Hopkins?” He asked, teasing. “Me, too, by the way.”

She shook her head, ignoring his joke. “Nope. Just tell me.”

“Well, I’m looking at California, New York, and Chicago. What about you?”

“Ohio, Virginia, and Washington.”

The pieces fell into place for him. “Damn, you were playing chess and I was playing checkers, huh?”

She laughed. “No, no, I was just curious. I didn’t think we’d get as far as relationship talk, but I figured after everything we’d been through, we might as well discuss it, you know?”

“So that means this is a one-and-done type deal.”

“I guess so,” she said, scratching at her neck. “I’ve made out with plenty of people before and forgotten it, so if you want to just see how we feel, I’m down.”

“Oh, I think you’ll remember this for a while,” he said, stretching across the counter to gently cup her face in both hands, pressing a deep kiss to her lips.

Their first kiss was unlike no other. What’d started out as an offhanded joke to relieve three years worth of tension quickly morphed into desperate grabbing of clothes, heavy pants, and even heavier tension crackling like a fire between them.

She fisted his collar, dragging him to her over the counter, kneeling on her bar stool and pushing herself closer and closer to him.

Bryce had his share of sloppy bar makeouts, passionate kisses amidst sex – even sweet domestic kisses during mundane tasks. But this kiss? Somehow it was a bit of everything rolled into one.

They parted pretty abruptly when he elbowed her empty champagne glass and it clattered against the counter.

“Shit,” he cursed, pulling back just a hair to check the damage.

When he turned back, she was still holding him, staring at him, a look on her face that he hadn’t seen before.

“That was…” her lids fluttered, tongue darting out to lick her lips – like she was savoring his taste.

“Really good.”

She nodded. “Insanely good.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Is it what you were dreaming of?” He teased, but there was a hint of sincerity to it.

She nodded again, her grip tightening on his collar. “I’m a little scared at how much I enjoyed it.”

“Scared? Why?” He murmured, stroking his thumb against her cheek in comfort.

“Well… this can’t happen,” she gestured between them.

“It doesn’t have to happen. We can pretend like the kiss never did, just like you said. I don’t mind,” he shrugged.

“But… what if I want it to?”

He couldn’t conceal the smirk tugging at his lips. “You wanna take this upstairs?”

She tried holding back a smile. “Maybe.”

“Well, you can think about it over dinner, whenever that gets here.”

The driver took about twenty minutes, and eating took them twenty more. Small talk was managed, jokes were cracked, but there was an unmistakable feeling in the air that both of them could sense.

Bryce was no stranger to sexual tension. Hell, he thrived on it.

Making a cute girl blush? Exhilarating. Getting a guy at the bar fund his hangover? Incredible. Those few minutes between knowing you’re going to fuck someone and actually fucking them? Couldn’t get enough.

The minute their plates were cleared, she took his hand and led him upstairs, throwing glances back at him like if she let go for a second he’d disappear.

As much as he just wanted to fool around, he couldn’t help but pocket the small details for later, just in case he decided it was alright to get emotionally invested. Despite feeling like he had a hold on the situation, he definitely didn’t.

He was a bit delusional in thinking he wasn’t already falling for her the way she was for him.

––––

[part 1.5 coming soon]

____

They’d been curled up in bed for nearly an hour and a half, just talking, every once in a while pulling the other in for another kiss that led to roaming hands.

In another life, if they’d both lived in that town and grew up there, there was no doubt they’d be best friends. High school sweethearts, even.

But she knew that whatever daydreams she’d conjured up could never be reality.

This was a one-time thing. They both knew that.

After a lull in conversation she slipped out of bed, gathering her clothes and tossing them onto the bed.

“You leaving?” He asked, sitting up.

“Uh, yeah. I think I need to get going. I’ve still got a curfew,” she shrugged, making a hand motion like she was pulling the trigger.

“Still have one? Damn, that sucks. Am I gonna get to see you tomorrow?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

He remembered her curfew?

She snapped her bra back in place, avoiding his eye as she slid on her straps. “I, um, have to leave.”

“I thought you were staying through the weekend?” He sounded taken aback, like he thought he had more time.

She slipped her underwear and pants on fast. “I have a long drive ahead of me and I kinda wanted a night to breathe before I tour and interview, you know?”

He was silent. She threw her sweater on before daring a glance at him. His eyes were trained on the mattress, refusing to look at her.

“Bryce,” she called, but he shook his head.

She sat on the mattress, tipping his chin up with her finger. “What’s wrong?”

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, sighing. “It’s stupid.”

“C’mon, it’s not stupid. Tell me.”

“I’m kinda regretting this being a one-time thing.”

She raked his hair back, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I am, too.”

He met her eyes again, brows furrowed. “You are?”

She nodded. “I like you. A lot.”

“So what’s stopping us? We can make it work if we try –”

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, looking at the ground. “I don’t know if we can.”

“Why not?”

“The distance, first of all. And we’re going to be in different programs in different states, so there’s no way we can fully commit to school and our future if we’re trying to start a relationship and maintain it –”

“Spencer, you think I’m gonna give up that easily after all this time? I just got you back,” he said, lifting a hand to cup her cheek.

“This isn’t giving up, Bryce… this is… practical. Rational,” she added, leaning into his touch. “The right thing to do.”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

“I know, but… I think it’s easier to move on now rather than later when we’re in too deep,” she gulped, trying to soothe the lump forming in her throat.

She knew this wasn’t gonna be easy, but she figured it’d be easier than falling for him over phone calls and video chats and sweet good morning texts and the inevitable breakup that came after.

“You sure we’re not already in it?” He asked, underneath his breath, gaze flitting to her lips.

She rolled her lips, shaking her head, trying to mask her wobbling chin.

“If you don’t want to get hurt, I get it, but I need you to know that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I met you,” he said, cupping her cheeks with both hands. “And – and I never thought I’d see you again, so I don’t want to let you go without at least, you know, trying to fight for you.”

He brought her in for a deep kiss, seemingly trying to plead his case with his touch.

“Maybe we should just go our separate ways and pretend tonight didn’t happen. It might be less difficult,” she murmured after he pulled away.

“None of this will be easy for us, Spence,” he pressed their foreheads together, both of them closing their eyes.

“Honestly, I want nothing more than to be with you. I want you so badly, but I’ve got so many commitments and my career and I can’t just throw my responsibilities out the window, because I know I would – that’s what scares me,” she whispered, voice cracking.

“You’re right. I hate that you’re right.”

––––

When she slipped back into her room after saying a quick goodnight to her parents, she curled up in her bed and cried.

She didn’t want to cry – it was like her body wouldn’t let her hold it in any longer. The sobs wracked her body as if personified guilt had grabbed her by the shoulders, dug its fingers into her skin, and shook her the tears from her.

Hours later, she woke up in the middle of the night, face still puffy and irritated. As she stood up to go throw cool water on her face, she noticed something taped to her window.

His number and socials were listed in a neat bulleted list, and below it, he’d scrawled a simple note:

“If we meet again.”

––––

#playchoices #bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #bryce x mc #my fic #jade writes choices fics

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littlestarofthewest · 3 years

Photo

Title: Boss Ass Bitch | Word Count: 2645 | Rating: Explicit (18+!!!)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader (in this chapter)

Tags: modern AU, mechanic AU, work in progress

Chapters: [1] [2]

Your first week in your new job flies by quickly. Molly's got so much to teach you that you can't focus on anything else. Only during your breaks, you have a moment to look through the huge window that lets you watch the boys in the garage.

Most of the time, they're busy with their work, but sometimes you can hear their laughter through the wall when they're joking with each other. Once in a while, one of them comes into the office to talk something out with Molly, but you're too busy to pay attention.

By the time week two rolls around, you feel confident to be on your own. Molly leaves her number just in case and assures you that you can always ask the boys if you have more questions. You smile and nod while thinking that you'll try to avoid that option.

Come Monday, you get to the shop almost an hour early, but you're still not the first there. The door is open, and the lights are on. When you make your way to the office, Charles comes along the corridor that leads to the boys' changing room.

Surprise graces his face when he sees you, but then he smiles. "Good morning."

"Morning."

"You're early."

"I thought it might be a good idea to get a headstart," you say, suddenly feeling stupid. You're a grown woman, after all, you shouldn't be so nervous. "You're early yourself."

Charles shrugs. "I get up with the sun most of the time. Just can't sleep any longer."

"I wish that was me," you sigh. "I don't mind sleeping in."

"I hope you'll still have a good day."

"Thank you," you say, warmth spreading in your chest. Unlike most people, Charles sounds genuine, and you can do with the encouragement. You still smile after Charles when he walks over to the car he's working on, but then you put yourself together and disappear into your new office.

The first two hours go by quickly, and you have a good feeling about your work. So far, you know exactly what to do, and you're confident you can make it through the day without messing up. Thanks to the big window, you can see that Arthur and John arrived as well.

You watch the boys for a bit while all three of them bend into the same car, involved in a serious discussion. Compared to your first day, they are moderately dressed for once. Charles and John both wear blue overalls, and while John's is so dirty that his one appears black, he at least closed the buttons.

Arthur's wearing blue pants as well, with a simple gray shirt, and you're once again pissed because they can look this good without effort. With a sigh, you go back to an email you've started when the office door opens.

"Hey Molly, we need-" Arthur says while coming in but stops himself when he sees you. "Sorry, I was looking for Molly."

"She's not here today," you say, getting nervous again. "In fact, she's not coming anymore. She put me in charge."

"Oh good," Arthur says, and just like Charles, he seems pleased. "I just need the schedule, and then I'm out of your hair."

The nervous feeling wanders from your chest up into your throat. "Schedule?"

"Yeah, so we know which cars to finish first. Or the 'yeet sheet' as John likes to call it."

You remember Molly mentioning that as well, and a light turns on in your head. "Yes, of course. Molly prepared it on Friday."

You see the sheet in front of your inner eye, but then nothing. Arthur walks up to your desk, rubbing his hands. "Great, can I have it?"

"I, um, don't remember where she put it," you admit. "I can call her."

"No need, you can just print out a new one," Arthur says, rounding your desk. "I've done it a few times when Molly was busy. Let me show you."

Arthur leans over your shoulder, pointing to the folders you need while you sneak side-glances at him. You already found him attractive from afar, but up close, it's way worse. He has lovely blue eyes with sort of a golden ring in the middle, and his beard looks so soft, you have to fight the urge to rub your face against his.

Arthur's scent doesn't help either. There are strong undertones of the garage, like motor oil and metal, but also something fresh like recently washed sheets. You take a deep breath and try to focus on what Arthur is showing you, but then he leans in even closer to read the folders' names.

"That must be it," he says, pointing to one of them.

A shiver runs down your spine when his breath ghosts over the skin on your neck, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. You wish you could turn around and bury your face in his chest but instead, you print out the file he needs, your eyes hefted to the screen.

"There you go."

"Thank you, my lady," Arthur says. He walks over to the printer and waves a little goodbye with the piece of paper before leaving you alone in your office.

You use the next few minutes to stare blankly at your screen, trying to stomach what just happened, from Arthur casually calling you 'my lady' to you feeling like a cat in heat just because a guy stood a little too close to you.

Over the last few weeks, you've been so busy with the job change that you didn't even think to take care of yourself. Being confronted with three good looking guys every day clearly doesn't help your situation. You decide to battle your horniness the second you get home today and go back to work.

You manage to get through the rest of the week without any more hiccups, and aside from some annoying or unfriendly clients, this might just be the best job you've ever had. In the mornings, you often run into Charles, getting your first smile of the day. Then you exchange some small talk with Arthur while he's getting his caffeine fix in the break room, and John's usually the one to stay late, closing up with you.

They're all so nice that you consider yourself spoiled. Still, you deserve a treat, so you use the weekend for some intense self-care. At first, you feel a bit guilty when the boys enter your mind as you pleasure yourself, but you can't help it, and it does wonders for your body and soul.

You go back to work on Monday with a big smile on your face, and time flies by. You're not even tired when it's time to go home again. As your last act of the day, you do a little inventory check. It's your job to stock up the break room and buy necessities like toilet paper and cleaning supplies.

When you come back from the kitchen, the garage is dark. Arthur's been the last of the boys, but it seems that he went home by now, so you grab your clipboard and head for the guy's changing room to see if they need anything refilled.

You should have noticed that the lights are still on, but you're busy writing down what to buy the next day. After waltzing into the room, you look up and freeze on the spot.

Arthur is standing in front of the lockers with a towel over his head to dry his hair. The problem is that that's the only thing covering him. You stare at his naked body, your eyes roaming from his feet upward over his manhood to his bare chest, and you can't bring yourself to look away.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you forget to hold on to your clipboard, and it clutters to the ground with an overly loud sound. Arthur comes out from under the towel, staring at you with surprise.

"Sorry, I- I didn't- I mean, I thought-" you stammer, unable to finish a single sentence. "God, I didn't mean to-"

You're still staring at Arthur until he has the sense to put the towel around his hips. Finally, you can move and get on the floor to retrieve your clipboard and a few loose pages. "I'm so sorry, I thought I was alone."

"It's fine, don't worry about it," Arthur says, his voice calm.

While you can feel your face grow hot, Arthur doesn't sound embarrassed at all. You put the pages back into the clipboard and dare to look at him again. In hindsight, you shouldn't have done that. The towel is barely covering Arthur, so you still have an excellent view of his body. You can't help but take it in, and when your eyes meet Arthur's, there's something challenging in them.

"Do you want to come over here?"

You know you should turn and run, but Arthur's voice lures you in as if he was a well-built siren. Your feet take you the few steps over to him all on their own, and you're enveloped by Arthur's fresh scent. He takes the clipboard and places it on a bench next to you before reaching for your face.

Arthur lifts up your chin, and when you look at him, there's still the fire in his eyes, but he's smiling. "Hey," he says, and you feel calmer somehow.

You manage a shaky "hey" as well, and Arthur's fingers trail along your face before cupping your cheek.

"Mind if I kiss you?"

You can't remember anybody asking you this before, and your brain has a hard time coming up with an answer. After all, Arthur's right there, still built like a demigod and still deliciously naked.

"I- um, I wouldn't mind," you say, still wondering why he would even want to.

Before you can think of a reason, Arthur already leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He keeps teasing you, but when you're still frozen on the spot, he retreats.

"I'm not trying to pressure-" Arthur starts, but your mind finally catches up.

You throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for another kiss. Since you're way less gentle than him, Arthur matches your eagerness, his tongue rubbing hot against your own.

Despite your little fun sessions at home, you still feel charged with sexual energy, and you can't help but grind against Arthur with your whole body. He takes to kissing along your neck, and his hands wander to your breasts.

"Have to admit that I've been thinking about this," he says as his fingers rub your nipples through the fabric of your top. "Those blouses and the damn skirts."

You just tried to look professional, so it's quite a nice piece of information that your get up railed Arthur up just as much as his clothes bothered you.

"Take them off then," you say, growing bolder. This is already happening, so you might as well go the distance.

Arthur growls as he fumbles with the buttons of your shirt, and the second he gets them all open, he pushes down the fabric of your bra to expose your naked skin. Kissing down your body, Arthur sits down on the bench, pushing up your skirt next.

When he caresses your thighs, you eagerly spread your legs, and Arthur pulls down your underwear before his face takes its place. You let out a little squeal when his tongue touches you, but he keeps going, and you hold on to his shoulder to keep yourself upright.

Arousal pools between your legs and you just know you're going to paint Arthur's face with your juices if he keeps going like that. Digging your fingers into Arthur's hair, you can't help but rub yourself against him, eager to get as much friction as possible.

Arthur keeps licking you with slow, hot strokes of his tongue while his hands wander upwards until he can touch your breasts. Your nipples grow hard in the cold air, and he keeps teasing them until you can't take it anymore.

You hold Arthur in place, your thighs shaking as you come, and his moans are just as bad as yours. Usually, you'd be quite satisfied now, but you can only think about wanting more.

After releasing Arthur from your iron grip, you pull the towel away and climb on Arthur's lap. While kissing, you reach for his cock, making him groan against your lips. You've never done anything like this before, but now you can only think about riding Arthur until you forget your own name.

You take position over Arthur and carefully lower yourself onto him until he's fully sheeted inside you.

"Jesus Christ, you're tight," Arthur groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

As slowly as you can, you move up again, making Arthur curse. It feels just as good for you, the constant rub bringing even more heat, and you put your arms around Arthur's neck so you can ride him properly.

He's holding on to your hips, doing his fair share to lift you up, but he gets distracted and nibbles and licks wherever he can reach you. You wish it wouldn't turn you on that much, since you're usually not one for one night stands or sex in weird places.

Although it's late, you can't shake the idea that Charles or John could come back. Even worse, what if Dutch showed up? You roll your hips for more friction and deliberately clench your muscles around Arthur.

"Goddamn, girl," Arthur growls, "don't do that."

Arthur holds you in place when you don't stop, pushing into you with a few sharp thrusts. He moans with his head buried against your neck, his whole body going rigid when he comes.

You hold still to give him a moment, not ready for him suddenly lifting you up so he can put you down on the bench next to him.

Arthur dives between your legs, his beard scratching your thighs as he licks you again. All you can do is hold on to the bench, skitting towards bliss without a break. You arch your back when you hit your breaking point, and Arthur lets you rut against him until you're completely satisfied.

All you can do now is stare up at the ceiling and catch your breath. Arthur cleans himself up with his towel before running a warm hand along your thigh.

"I'll be right back," he says, and soon he offers you some tissues to get yourself cleaned up as well. When you sit up, Arthur watches you intently. "You alright?"

"I was supposed to do some inventory for the order tomorrow."

"That's what you're thinking about?" Arthur huffs.

"I'm sorry, I'm just so used to planning everything," you explain. "This is not how I imagined my evening."

"Me neither. It's bad enough that you're distracting me during work. I didn't think it would happen after."

You wish you could say something to that, but you get so flustered that you focus on putting your clothes in order instead.

"Don't worry about the order," Arthur says, "I know what we need; I can just tell you."

"That would be great," you say, picking up your clipboard, but before you take any notes, you look Arthur over. "Maybe you should get dressed first."

"Why?"

"It's distracting."

Arthur leans back with a smile, giving you an even better view. "Really?"

You lean in to give him a kiss, right before clutching the clipboard to his chest. "That list better be on my desk tomorrow at 9am."

"Yes, ma'am," Arthur says, but he doesn't move, so you turn tail and run.

If you stay, chances are you're going to eat your dinner off of him.

#arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #modern au #my writing #cara's mechanic au

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northern-passage · 4 years

Note

so don't feel pressure if you're too busy!! i know you're being sent a whole bunch of these. but if you're looking for options, i thought "you're way too good to be hanging out with me" would be a neat one for noel? :) but only if you have time!

You’re so bored.

You hate sitting watch. You don’t even know how long it’s been. A few minutes? Five hours? It feels like five hours.

Sighing loudly, you shift back, leaning against the log that lays across the clearing you’ve all set up camp in. Snow has started to fall lightly overhead, though the trees are already thick with snowfall from the day before.

You fidget with your necklace, staring out across the clearing, watching the shadows of your fire cast strange shapes among the trees. You startle a bit when someone shifts inside one of the tents nearby, and you look over just as Noel pops their head out, slowly stumbling out in front of the fire.

“Hey,” they say, giving you a sleepy grin. They trudge over and plop down on the log behind you, rubbing their eyes and yawning.

“What are you doing?” you ask, keeping your voice quiet so as not to disturb the others.

They shrug, looking down at you. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Really? Seems like you just woke up,” you say.

“Exactly.” Noel says, propping their feet up close to the fire.

You blink, not really sure what the hell they’re talking about. But you’re also grateful for the company. You both sit in silence for a while, but you quickly become very away of how close Noel is to you, their legs nearly brushing your shoulder. You can feel the heat radiating off of them from where you sit on the cold ground.

Suddenly they bump you with their knee, leaning forward and peering down at you.

“This is pretty boring, huh?” they say.

“To be fair, it is kind of a good thing when watch is boring,” you say.

Noel raises an eyebrow at you.

“Okay, yes, it is so fucking boring,” you say, burying your face in your hands.

Noel laughs, a hand over their mouth in an attempt to stifle it so as not to wake your companions. Again they bump you with their knee, and the contact makes you burn.

“Hmmm,” they hum, standing then, and begin to pace in front of the fire. You watch them go back and forth, back and forth, but eventually you give up and stare off into the trees. You know, like you’re supposed to be doing.

But there’s nothing out here. Just you two idiots, freezing your asses off.

“Noel, go to sleep,” you say then, giving them a look where they continue to pace. They pause, looking over at you. They just sigh, stepping back over to the log, and throwing themself down on the ground next to you.

They stretch their legs out next to yours, and lean back. “Don’t act like you don’t appreciate the company,” Noel says, their eyes closed, head resting against the log. “And you know how it goes. Sleep…is difficult, for us, some times,” they add, a bit more genuine now. They still have their eyes closed, but you can see their smile fade.

This time, you bump their knee with yours. They crack one of their eyes open, looking over at you, a small smile returning.

“Being around you helps,” they say suddenly.

Noel sits up then, fully looking at you. You’re a bit taken aback, unsure how to respond.

“Noel…,” is all you manage.

They just smile, and lean into you. You pull away before you really realize what’s happening. They don’t follow you, instead leaning back against the log again, just watching you sadly.

They clench their jaw and turn away then, staring into the fire. The silence that follows is so heavy.

“Noel-,” you start, but they shake their head, cutting you off before you really even get to start.

“It’s alright. Let’s just sit here,” they say, though they still don’t look at you, just watching the wood burn. The snow has picked up considerably now, though luckily you and your fire are protected by the thick pines.

You chew on your lip, fidgeting with your necklace again. You feel even colder than before, with the space between you and Noel.

“You’re way too good to be hanging out with me,” Noel says suddenly.

Your hand wraps around your necklace at their words. “What makes you say that?” you ask quietly. Your voice doesn’t even sound like yours.

Noel sighs. You wait for a while, but they never answer you. The fire starts to wither between you, and the shadows in the clearing grow darker. Noel is the one that finally stands and retrieves more firewood. You just watch as they drop the wood onto the embers, and stoke the fire back to life.

When they sit back down, it’s close to you again, their knee next to your shoulder.

“I’m…,” you start slowly, painfully. “I’m not… a good person, Noel.”

Noel scoffs. “None of us are,” they say.

“Then what did you mean earlier?” you prompt, finally really looking at them again. Their eyes catch the fire and glow, powerful, the gold flashing like a warning.

Noel puts their elbows on their knees, staring down at their feet.

“You think your worse?” you say, because you don’t think they can say it out loud. They still don’t respond, but you can see, looking up into their face, that they close their eyes at your words.

You don’t know what compels you to do it, but you sit up, pushing yourself up onto the log next to them. You reach out, gently putting a hand on their knee. They flinch at your touch, but don’t pull away. A tense moment passes, both of you afraid and unsure. But Noel leans into you again, and this time you let them, not pulling away, not wanting to.

#sorry LOL #noel lykaon #i think i got this one a couple times for noel so !#ask #anonymous #snippets

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aaron-despair · 4 years

Text

Keep fighting for you (Natasha Romanoff x reader)

A/N: I don’t own any of the characters in this fic, they belong to Marvel.

Warnings: mentions of blood.

Summary: During a mission, reader gets injured badly and Nat realises her feelings towards them.

*************************************

You sat quietly at the back of the quinjet, lost in your thoughts. Earlier that day, Steve has called you, along Natasha, Clint and Sam, informing you about a new mission you had to go on. It was easy: get into the base, retrieve the information and get out.

As you stayed there, you thought about something that happened a few days ago with a certain redhead. You and Natasha were paired to go on a mission, and you had to go undercover as a couple to fulfill it.

*****

“Nat, they’re following us.” Y/N whispered in her ear, making it seem like they were bitting her lobe.

“I know, just keep the act until we arrive.” She murmured back, with a fake smile plastered on her face. For some reason she seemed to hate them, but Y/N couldn’t understand why.

They kept going until they arrived back at the hotel they were staying in until the mission was over, and went back to their room. Once they were inside, Natasha turned to face Y/N, who stepped backwards upon seeing the look on her eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” She asked furiously.

“What?”

“It was your fault that we almost got discovered, don’t you have anything to say?”

“My fault?!”Y/N fought back, and Natasha doubted what she wanted to say when she saw the fire in their eyes, which turned bright red. “I did NOTHING wrong down there, so you don’t get to say that and walk away so easily. Tell me what I did wrong, then.”

Natasha kept silent, she had never saw them like this and she didn’t know how to react. They both stayed there, breathing heavily and bitting back their anger, until Nat decided that she couldn’t take it anymore.

She pushed Y/N against the wall and kissed them roughly. Y/N was taken aback for a second before kissing back, their own anger deepening the kiss in a way neither of them could control. Y/N tangled their fingers in her red locks while Natasha’s hands traveled up their body.

They pulled back, breathless, and stayed in the same position for a while. Y/N’s eyes flared for a second before returning to their original vibrant E/C, and Natasha separated herself from them.

Without any word, they both got ready for bed and fell asleep.

********

“Y/L/N!”

You looked up to see Steve gazing down at you, concern written in his eyes. He kneeled down next to you and put a hand on your shoulder.

“Something wrong, Cap?” You asked, confused as to why was he so concerned about you.

“We’ve been calling you for about five minutes straight, y’know?” Replied Sam behind him, and Clint aproached the both of them.

“Everything alright?” Clint asked, also concerned about you.

“Yeah, I just...” you looked at Natasha for a split second, who hadn’t given you a single glance since the kiss. “Just got something stuck in my mind, that’s all.” You stated.

“Well, you better focus on the mission. It’s going to be a tough one.”

...

About half an hour after they landed, they splitted and went different ways. Clint and Steve went to the west, searching for some civilians that disappeared recently; Sam stayed in the air, ready to enter if something went wrong; and Natasha was sent with Y/N searching for the control room, trying to get back the files to complete the mission. Neither of them spoke, they just kept going down the halls watching for any sign of danger or the reason they came to this place.

After a while of walking, they finally found the room, and went inside to retrieve the information. Natasha swiftly made her way to the computers while Y/N kept watch in case some agents decided to attack.

Halfway through the task, you couldn’t keep your thoughts to yourself.

“Did it mean anything?” you mumbled.

“What?” Natasha asked, clearly hearing what you said.

“That kiss...did you really mean it?” You asked, louder this time.

“Now is not the time for this, Y/L/N.” She hissed, still typing in the keyboard and not even glancing at you.

Just as they were going to reply, Y/N heard something come from down the hall they came. Natasha must have heard it too, because she quicky looked at the doors before focusing again on the screen.

Suddenly, Hydra agents filled the room and started firing at them. Y/N quickly recovered and started to fight them back while Natasha finished the task at hand. After retrieving everything they needed, Natasha came by their side and they both kept fighting, but there was too many of them.

An agent made his way behind Natasha, aiming at her chest, but she was dealing with way too many to even notice him. So when she heard the gunshot, she awaited for the pain, but it didn’t come. She finished taking the agents down before turning around and what she saw made her freeze.

Y/N had taken down the agent, shielding her in the process. When they turned, Natasha saw the bleeding wound on their chest, right into their heart, and she couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Told you... I’ve got... your back...” Y/N whispered with a soft smile, before coughing up some blood and falling to the ground, unconscious.

Natasha fell to her knees beside them, carefully rolling them onto their back. They looked pale from the blood they had lost already. Natasha’s hands were shaking as she placed them on their wound. She applied pressure, reminding herself that their powers would keep them alive until they got to the tower where they could heal properly.

“You have to keep fighting, Y/N; please you have to stay alive!” Nat said in a broken whisper. Tears were falling down her cheeks and onto their blood-stained suit. “You can’t leave me, not when you have taught me what love feels like... You can’t die, you hear me?”

She finally realized that she shouldn’t have pushed them away from her. Y/N was the only one that had accepted her from the begining, without questioning nor judging her or her past. They were the one that stayed by her side no matter what, and this is how she returned the favor.

She promised herself that she’d tell them how she really felt right after they woke up.

...

A few hours later, you woke up to the feeling of a hand over yours. You also could hear a soft voice, but you couldn’t quite recognize it nor bring yourself to open your eyes.

After some attempts you finally opened them and noticed that you were in the med-bay of the tower. You looked to the side, realising that the voice was Natasha’s. She was looking down at your entwined hands and didn’t see that you had woken up.

“Please you need to keep fighting, Y/N/N...” She mumbled, still not looking up while tears kept falling down her face.

“I’ll always keep fighting for you, Nat.” You said, voice hoarse, and Natasha looked at you instantly. She poured you a glass of water, helping you drink it before taking your hand again, this time with a genuine smile on her face.

“You’re awake.” She whispered, not quite believing it until she heard you chuckle.

“Yeah, I am...” You whispered back, smiling softly. You reached your hand up to her cheek, wiping away some of her tears. “You alright?”

“You just got shot because of me, you really think I’m okay?” She answered, looking at you sternly. “Y/N, I-I’m sorry that I pushed you away, I didn’t know how to deal with this and...”

“Hey, it’s alright. I shouldn’t have pressed you either. I just... That kiss really got to me, you know?” They both chuckled.

“So, you forgive me... Right?” Nat quizzed, still insecure about their mutual feelings.

Instead of giving her an actual answer, you propped yourself on your elbows and pulled her down to kiss her with all the love you held for her. When you pulled apart, you winced at the pain in your chest and Nat helped you lay down.

“Careful there, you still need to rest.” She laughed, her eyes full of love and adoration. “You really scared me there...”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” You took a hold of her hand and kissed her knuckles. “But I’m right here, and I’m not leaving you.”

“It’s a promise, Y/N/N.” She smiled.

“It’s a promise, Tasha. I’ll always be by your side.”

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x gender neutral reader #natalia romanova #black widow

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dragonsholygrail · 4 years

Text

Demons in My Head

Klaus x female friend (platonic)

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 3.6K

𝗮/𝗻: This is an AU where Reginald puts all the kids into a private school. This isn’t a fic where Klaus is striaght or bi, this is a friend fic. Klaus and the reader are best friends. The reader doesn’t have powers but the whole school knows the Hargreeves have powers and the reader has even more knowledge on the subject as she is close to Klaus.

Klaus Hargreeves was a special boy. As much as he would argue, being seventeen did not make him a man. He had a short attention-span, easily distracted, often talked to himself, never shut up, could not stop moving, always had to be doing something interesting, and most people just couldn’t handle him.

I was probably the only that could. I was patient. Amazingly so. ‘A saint’ the people at school called me. Then it kind of stuck and became a nickname of sorts. I also happened to be Klaus’ friend. Singular. Not plural. Like I said, no one else could really handle him.

The Hargreeves had come to our school at the beginning of high school. Their father, Reginald Hargreeves, didn’t think it would be best for them. Nor did he think them and their powers would be accepted in a private school. He was partially correct.

Luther fit right in with the other jocks, Diego mostly kept to himself. But even he had his own little group. Allison fit right in and got popular surprisingly quick, Vanya completely kept to herself. Even in a group of people without powers she still seemed to feel out of place.

Then there was Klaus. Klaus was very social… People just weren’t very social back. They couldn’t deal with his… energy most of the time. Except for me. We had met freshman year and Klaus definitely kept things exciting. But even with all the Hargreeves kids mostly finding their niche, not everybody was so open to their powers at school. The faculty, some of the more closed off students. But the kids were okay with it as long as they had people who were ok with them. And Klaus had me.

Currently, he had me not blowing up at him for throwing wads of paper in my hair for sport. We were in the middle of Economics and Klaus was obviously extremely bored. It had started about seventeen minutes ago and barley let up. It was a marvel he hadn’t been caught yet.

One paper ball thrown on my head.

I had flinched when he first started. Even jumped the first time. I hadn’t really expected it but with Klaus, I could never really expect anything.

Another paper ball thrown on my head.

Klaus not only had to make sure our teacher didn’t see him throwing wads of paper in my hair, but he had to avoid his siblings finding out. Both Allison and Diego were also in the class. It was even more surprising as Allison was sitting right next to me.

A third paper ball thrown on my head.

“Klaus,” a voice hissed, effectively stopping him for the time being. My lips twitched down. I look to the side where the voice came from, trying not to laugh as crumpled up paper fell off my hair and onto the floor. Klaus wasn’t so lucky. He was giggling like a mad man. Allison glares at us.

Our teacher looks up from her book and we freeze. Then a moment later, she looks back down from her book. We also just so happened to be in the middle of a test. Allison looked between the teacher and us.

“Klaus, stop ripping up your test and throwing it at the poor girl. Do your work and stop bothering her,” she snapped. She shook her head as she looked back down to her test. Once Allison was back and engrossed with her work, I spun around in my desk and faced Klaus who sat right behind me. Paper had flown everywhere.

“I dare you to keep doing it. Don’t stop,” I egg on with a smirk on my face and a plan in my mind. A Cheshire Cat like smile lights up his face.

“Ohoho. I will take that dare, my friend, and increase it a-tenfold.” He crosses his arms and leans back, waiting for me to turn towards the front once more. My smirk broadens and I turn back around to continue my test.

It didn’t take long for Klaus to once again start throwing paper balls at my head. The only sound in the room really was the scribbling of pencils, students breathing, and Klaus slowly ripping the paper from his test and crumpling it up to throw at me.

One paper ball is thrown on my head.

The old pile had all fallen out once I began to move about. But Klaus was working his way up to building it again. I counted the seconds. This was going to be perfect. Oh how my dear friend would never see it coming.

Another paper ball is thrown on my head.

At this point, I was completely consumed by my plan. My test was forgotten, as was Klaus’ so I guess we were failing together. I grip the edge of my desk. It was coming. Klaus would surely know I planned this. Sure, he would be as pissed as he could be. Meaning that anger would shoot out in a burst and then it would be gone. He would be fine, we would be fine. But for this moment, I was sure to enjoy my act of revenge.

And a third ball of paper was thrown on my head.

Just as the teacher looked up from her book. I smirk. I turn back in my desk, the papers falling out of my hair. Klaus’ face was white as a ghost. His eyes flickered down to mine and he glared. I bit my tongue, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Klaus Hargreeves!” The teacher yelled, effectively gaining the room's attention. Klaus looked around and smiled, wiggling his fingers. Of course he would be enjoying the attention right now.

“Yes, Mrs?” Klaus asked with faux confusion. He had his charming face on right now. Oh… how many troubling situations we’ve gotten out of with that face. Luckily I added my own aspect to our partnership that I could use against him. Tears instantly appeared at my water line and Klaus’ look faltered. He knew.

“Are you ok, darling?” The teacher asked softly. I let a few tears flow down my cheeks and I whipped to face the teacher. A sob racked through my chest.

“Thank you for stopping him! He’s been tormenting me all class! All I wanted to do was focus and get a good grade on this test!” I say through my cries. Our teachers brows furrow deeply in sympathy. I exaggerate my tears and bury my face in my hands. I peak through my fingers just in time to see the teacher snap her gaze up and glare at Klaus. I couldn’t help but smirk. Luckily my mouth was hidden behind my hands.

“Mr. Hargreeves! Detention after school!” She yells before storming back to her desk at the front of class to retrieve a detention slip. Most of the class is snickering behind their hands. Klaus leans forward on his desk.

“You play dirty,” he whispers in my ear. His breath hits deep in my ear and I scowl. I swat his face away.

“Do we do it any other way?” I ask innocently, peering over my shoulder to look at him. ‘Betrayer’ he mouths. I giggle and face forward. I watch with satisfaction as our teacher hands him the slip.

After school I wait patiently outside of our Economics classroom. After detention ended I was ready and leaning against the wall outside the classroom with a few waffles and coco in my hand ready to give Klaus. Aka, the BEST way to gain his forgiveness. The door opened and a couple of students filed out. I looked at each of their faces as they passed. When Klaus wasn’t one of the few, I frowned deeply and walked into the classroom. I looked through the class and our teacher was the only one residing in the room.

“Mrs,” I say to gain her attention. She looks up front the work she was grading and smiles at me.

“What can I help you with?” She asks.

“Um… do you know if Klaus Hargreeves came to detention today?” I ask. Her smile instantly turns into a scowl.

“He didn’t attend,” she says lowly. I nod.

“Well, thank you, ma’am,” I say with a few more awkward nods before I turn around and make my way out of the room.

“If you see him, please inform him he has double detention tomorrow!” She yells after me. I can’t help but chuckle, walking at a quicker pace out of there.

I walk through the hall when I realize I may know where he is. If he’s there… I swear, I will throw this coco on his face. I storm out of the school and onto the football field. Right under the bleachers stood the stoners. Smoking joints and chugging alcohol. My eyes quickly spotted Klaus and my hand squeezed around the cup, denting it a bit.

“Klaus. Hargreeves!” I shout in a bubbling pot of rage. I smash the cup of coco and bag of waffles on the ground. He swore he wouldn’t give into this. His head snaps up to meet my figure heading towards him.

“Oh shit,” he shouts. He twists his foot on the ground and heads over to me. “Saint! Now what’re you doing here?” He asks, trying to sound genuinely curious.

“What’re you doing?” I ask, even though he reeks of marijuana. I grab his face and force his eyes wide open. “Are you high?!” I ask. We both knew the answer. Let’s see if he had the lady balls to not lie to me.

“As a kite.” He nods in my hold before pushing my hands off and stumbling forward. I sigh and follow him. Of course I was going to follow him.

“God, why are you doing this?” I ask, desperate for a real answer this time.

“Because it helps,” he shrugs loosely. My brows furrow and I catch up with his long strides. I try to keep up with him, even though he seemed to be stumbling in circles. I brush my hand across his shoulder.

“Helps? Helps with what?” I continue, speaking with disbelief even though I hoped we were actually getting somewhere this time. Klaus stops and faces me.

“It actually helps a lot going on in here,” he grumbles, shaking his hands up and down his frame. He doesn’t make a move to start walking again. His back was slouched and his lips were out in a pout. It was clear he felt I was scolding him… I was just worried.

I carefully take a step forward. I had a suspicion about what was causing Klaus to act out recently. I hadn’t wanted to say it or bring it up. But I think I needed to if we were going to get to the bigger issue here.

“Is this about Ben?” I wonder, my voice as quiet as a whisper. Klaus’ eyes fall to the side of me and towards the sky as he laughs lightly, not risking the chance to meet my eye and I take this as a sign I might actually be getting somewhere with this chaotic boy. He had a tendency to laugh the serious things of life off his shoulders. I slowly grab both of his hands. “Look. I know what happened to Ben was tragic. So tragic. But he wouldn’t want to see you throwing your life away just because his got taken,” I try and express to him. Klaus starts laughing again. Could I have been wrong. He swats his hand at me.

“Ben actually gets to watch me throw my life away and is completely fine with it,” Klaus states. He looks off to his left before he hisses a “Shhhh.” At the empty space next to him. My eyes go wide.

“Wait. Do you mean..?” I ask hesitantly. If he did what I think he did… Klaus spins lightly in a circle before facing me and nods.

“That good ole Benny-Boo is here? Yup!” Klaus grins, sending a wink to what seemingly looks like empty space.

“So you.”

“Yuh-huh,” he confirms. I hold my hands out. I wave my arms and smack the air around me. Just in case. I step back and spin slowly in a circle. When I stop, I look up to see Klaus mirroring my actions, but an eyebrow raised in question.

“Wow,” I say simply. He smiles. He saunters closer to me.

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” He asks, sounding smug. I immediately scoff at this. As. If.

“That a ghost is hanging around me and I can’t see where? What's uncomfortable about that?” I cross my arms with a shrug. Klaus slaps his hands on my shoulder and pouts.

“Well he’s stuck here so I guess we’ll both have to get used to it,” he says before stepping around me and walking along the field. I start moving with him.

“Ok… so if it’s not Ben, then what does all this nonsense help with,” I ask, throwing my arm in the direction of the stoners still smoking behind the bleachers. Klaus puts his hands in the shape of finger guns and knocks them against his temples.

“They help with the demons in my head,” he mumbles. My face drops.

“You mean the ghosts?” I lean in, talking quietly to him.

“Yup!” He shouts and I step back. I couldn’t believe they were bothering him again. He had gotten such a handle on it recently! I really didn’t want to see him retreat back to how it was before. I grab his hand softly and slowly turn his body in a new direction; making sure his intoxicated self wouldn’t be able to tell. If he was losing control, I would help him gain it.

“You’re letting them overpower you again… you can’t give them that control, Klaus,” I tell him. He became a mess if the ghosts got too powerful. Klaus uses his free hand to shrug.

“That’s what all this ‘nonsense’ helps with,” Klaus points out. I squeeze my eyes tightly. I didn’t like being this hard on him… but he couldn’t constantly do drugs and drink for his entire life. He had to get a handle on this.

“Well you can’t keep doing this,” I say. He blows a raspberry.

“Who are you to tell me what I can or can’t do?” He asks in a high pitched voice.

“Well to be frank… I’m all ya got.” I laugh lightly. Klaus laughs hysterically before he stops abruptly. He furrows his brows.

“That’s...thats…” he slurs. I look at him deeply. I couldn’t tell if the red eyes were from the drinking or the drugs. But the slur in his voice and the slouch in his form would explain it.

“So you’re drunk too?! That’s just great,” I deadpan.

“Well,” Klaus starts when he tenses up. “Hey! Where are we going?” He asks me, whipping his head side-to-side to look at his surroundings. We had been walking down many different streets in a short amount of time. I wince. He wasn’t going to like this.

“Cemetery. I’m going to help you,” I state. Klaus immediately tries to skid to a stop, his breath hitching. His body was tense and his hand tightened around my own.

“Wait—what? Nonono. I am NOT going back there,” he shouts. He tries to tug on my hand, hoping to force me back away from our destination. I clench my jaw, using strength to pull him along.

“If you want to get a hold on this, you’ll have to. And if you want to keep me in your life, you will,” I say, my voice coming out strained. Klaus was surprisingly strong.

“And—and who says I want to keep you in my life?” He stutters, his own voice sounding tight. So he was having trouble tries to keep me back. Good to know I wasn’t as weak as I felt.

“Well if everyone’s right about how you feel about me…” I trail off quietly. Suddenly all tension in Klaus’ body flies away and he springs forward, matching my step.

“Ha ha ha. Well I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but I swing for the other team, my friend,” Klaus informs me. My face twists. Did he think? Ew! No way in any timeline would I— ugh. No. That is just— no.

“God, Klaus! I do not have feelings for you! Believe me, gay is not my type. I prefer guys who would prefer me too,” I state, pulling him a little quicker. I look up as Klaus’ face drops. He pouts and slouches his shoulders forward, looking at the ground moving in front of us.

“Well… well then what did that comment mean?” He asked, almost sounding as if he were sulking. I squint up at him.

“Are you..?” No… this would be way too funny. “Are you actually disappointed I don’t have feelings for you?” I ask with amusement. Klaus shrugs and trudges along with me.

“Well it would make things more interesting, that’s for sure.” His pout deepens. I laugh loudly and by the time I finish, Klaus is looking at me with the utmost offended look I had ever seen by the drama queen.

“Then I’m sorry to burst YOUR bubble,” I tease, knocking my shoulder against his. Klaus goes from a deep pout to a wide and joyous smile.

“That’s alright!” He shouts. He keeps his hand in my own but moves the same arm to rest over my shoulders. My arm was uncomfortably rested across my chest, but I would survive. “You’re still my best friend!” He exclaims. I smile softly and rest my head on his shoulder.

“And if you wish to keep me as such, you’ll try and do this… THAT'S what the comment meant,” I explain softly. After a minute or two, Klaus sighs deeply and turns his head to face the side of mine as I look forward to the street we’re turning to next.

“Only for you,” he murmurs through clenched teeth. I laugh and nod. Because we both knew we would do anything, accept any dare, and risk our lives if the other asked.

Klaus and I now stand still at the entrance to the cemetery.

“So what are we doing?” Klaus asks quietly. I inhale and exhale deeply. I brush my thumb over his hand, hoping it’ll keep him calm.

“We’re just going to take a walk. I’m not going to leave you alone, or trap you anywhere, or keep you here if it gets too much. I just want to take a walk. When they start yelling, I want you to demand obedience from them. You hold the power here. They listen to you,” I express. Klaus takes a moment before he nods. I take a step forward and wait for him to follow. He eventually does and we begin walking.

I watch him carefully as we pass the graves. He seemed to be alright at first. His face was calm. He kept his eyes closed, though. The deeper we walked in, the more worried I got. Klaus suddenly winces and I stop us.

“Klaus… show those ghosts who’s the boss,” I whisper. Klaus’ face slowly begins to relax.

“Yeah. Back off!” Klaus whispers back. I smile and move us forward again.

I keep watching him carefully. He quickly frowns again and he quickly begins to whimper.

“Klaus, you are in charge here. They are meant to listen to you. Not the other way around,” I say. Klaus tightens his grip on my hand.

“Stop. All of you stop it! Just, shut. Up,” he grounds out.

“Wahoo! Yes! You show them who’s got the real power here!” I cheer him on. When he makes no move to react, I frown. “Am I distracting you? I’m probably distracting you. I’ll be quiet,” I mumble. His body continued to tense up and he was beginning to have a hard time waking forward. I wanted to whisper, or call out of him. I wanted to gain his attention… but I knew he needed to focus.

“No. No, no, no. Stop it. Be quiet. Please, just—“ Klaus staggered forward falling onto the ground.

“Klaus? Klaus!” I yell, dropping to the ground next to him. Klaus is quick to curl into himself. He was whimpering and crying and shaking like mad. I tug him close to me and I begin to rock.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I thought this would help. I thought you could get a grip on your power if you just had the right support,” I whisper in his ear. “Can you stand? I’ll get you out. I just need your help,” I add. He nods curtly.

I lightly push him off of me and I stand. I lean forward and grab his arms, both of us working together to get him standing. I drag his arms around each of my shoulders and I hurry us out of there.

As we get out of the cemetery, we both fall onto the ground. I take most of the force, Klaus safely keeping from more harm on my back. He groans, rolling off of me. I turn my head to look at him, my eyes filled with sorrow, regret, and shame. I only hoped he could see it. He looked back at me, looking exhausted, tortured, and haunted.

“You tried,” he says breathlessly. “It will take time,” he adds. My eyes widen comically.

“You want to do this again?!” I whisper harshly. He shrugs as well as he can and gives me a small smile.

“I said I’d try, for you. I had a handle on it for a minute… maybe next time I can last a little longer.” He smiles hopefully. I close my eyes and grab his hand.

“Do you think it would be wrong to nap outside of a cemetery?” I mumble. Klaus chuckles.

“Don't think so. May be a bit biased tho.” We both laugh quietly for a few moments before we pick each other up and head back to the academy.

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starandquill · 4 years

Text

Hunter’s Game

My excuse to write an interaction with these two and also to write a poem about Cater sknkjgdn cross-posted on Ao3!

Characters: Rook Hunt, Cater Diamond

Summary: Rook finds Cater in the woods and decides to mess around with him. Cater soon learns he can’t outsmart the hunter in his own game.

The sun was low on the afternoon horizon and a soft breeze rustled the leaves in the forest. There within the chilly undergrowth, a hunter stalked their prey. They were a skilled predator, a figure obscured in the shadows refracted by the leaves above with footfalls so delicate and swift that not a leaf or stick was left behind disturbed. The hunter watched with sharp eyes through an obscuring bush as their prey, a figure across a grassy flowered clearing, shifted directions and bright green eyes narrowed as their main target was left perfectly open.

Quickly and seemingly with the grace of an eagle taking flight, the hunter raised their weapon and an arrow alongside it. Nock, aim, pull back. All done in several swift movements. Release.

Thunk.

The arrow struck its target perfectly and Cater's phone was knocked from his hand just before he could snap a photo of the flowers in front of him. The Heartslabyul student exclaimed his surprise in the form of a shout and immediately spun on his heels to face the direction the arrow came from with wide eyes and a defensive arm raised, magic pen in hand.

"Ah, my apologies~" Rook took this moment to slide out from the bush. Once more with enough grace that only a singular leaf remained stuck to the fabric on the shoulder of his uniform. A leaf which he then plucked and cast aside without breaking eye contact. "I missed."

Cater knew very well that Rook was not the type to miss and that the close-eyed smile and exaggerated shrug the self-proclaimed hunter gave him was a sly mockery that made his eyebrow twitch.

Despite this, Cater forced himself to return the smile, pocketing his magic pen. Both knew exactly what the other was really thinking and inwardly both were staring daggers, but they kept niceties.

"Ah! No problem." Cater said, particularly making sure to let a bit of his annoyance drip through between the cheerful tone. He reached down to retrieve his phone, brushing some dirt off of it as he looked it over quickly for any cracks in the screen. When he found nothing damaged, he quickly shoved it in his back pocket and looked up again to see Rook had already crossed the space between them and was now standing practically in front of him. With the same shit-eating grin still plastered on his face, Rook knelt down and retrieved his arrow from where it had fallen, returning it to his quiver and slinging the bow he'd been carrying with him around his shoulder as well.

When he stood back up to his full height, a silent exchange passed between their smiling expressions. Cater's read something along the lines of 'Hey you shit-faced bastard, you could've cracked my screen. There are, like, a million other things out here to aim at. What did I do to you, dude?' And Rook's expression assured in return that he was perfectly capable of using enough strength and precision to pierce the device clean through and that Cater should count himself lucky Rook had decided to merely knock it away with one of the blunt arrows he saved for non-hunting purposes.

"I was aiming at a bird." Rook finally said. "Such a shame, it seems it flew away now." He says this with a dramatic sigh. Cater noted he was making an effort to purposefully emphasize the obvious lie. He tried not to fall victim to whatever it was Rook was clearly doing.

"Sorry to hear that! Good luck with the rest of your.. Er.. Hunt! I was just taking some photos of these pretty flowers here and I'd like to continue if you don’t mind." Cater gestured toward the bright yellow and blue scattered among the grass of the clearing they were standing in. When Rook remained uncharacteristically silent, Cater shrugged and went to retrieve his phone again. However, his hand was stopped short as Rook caught him by the wrist. Instinctively, Cater moved to twist his hand from the other's grasp but Rook's grip was firm and that shit-eating smirk remained.

"A trickle of color amongst a sea of green, colorful raindrops fallen upon the ground. Oui, le fleur, a true beauty of the forest.” His eyes pierced Cater’s. “Do you know what else is beautiful, Monsieur Magicam? The thrill of the hunt. Since you're here and a hunt is always better done in a pack, I'd like you to help me catch that sneaky little birdie."

"Ehh?! Wh-" Cater protested as Rook began to pull him into the trees. "Hey!"

There was no bird! Rook was no fool and neither was Cater. Cater was well aware he was just playing games and Rook clearly knew of this fact, yet he smoothly continued the lie and used it to his advantage rather forcefully and expertly without revealing his intentions. The hunter had cornered its prey merely to force the prey to hunt for it. What sort of game was Rook playing at? Or rather, what sort of game was Cater being asked to play?

"Come, I saw it fly off this way." They were nearly in a jog at this point. Rook was clearly athletic, his speed leaving him practically dragging Cater along behind. He leapt easily over rocks and protruding roots, leaving Cater to stumble over said obstacles.

Finally, Rook paused within the shade of a young tree, seemingly completely unfazed by the length of which he had run. When they halted to a stop, the Heartslabyul student doubled over, gasping desperately for air as he looked to Rook, who appeared to be smelling the air for scents that carried in the slight breeze. Again, searching for nothing in particular but keeping the facade.

It wasn't as if Cater was unfamiliar with spontaneity of mischief. After all, it was quite the familiar theme among the Heartslabyul dorm. He knew a game of wits when he saw one. Aha! That was it! If Rook wants a game he'll get a game. This was a game two could play at and two would play indeed. ..Or perhaps, more than just two..

A wide grin spread across his face.

"Don't you think it would be easier,” Cater suddenly said. “If we split up to find it?"

Before Rook could even open his mouth to speak, Cater used Split Card. He got a boost of confidence from the look of genuine surprise that crossed Rook's eyes for all but a tenth of a second and it allowed Cater just enough energy for all four versions of himself to split off and scatter into the trees.

“Hmm?” Rook called into the forest. “Playing games with a hunter are we? That's never a wise move.” A pause, no Caters answered. “But I guess I do enjoy a game of hide and seek. Alright, I give you 10 seconds to hide, Monsieur Magicam. Let's play a game. I know there are four of you, so if I find the real one, you must help me find my little bird. If I guess incorrectly, you win and you're free~” A beat. Then, “Neuf.” Another beat. “Huit.”

Cater realized he had begun counting and took off into the trees. The other Caters realized this too and all of him set off in completely different directions. The real Cater stumbled through the bushes as if his life depended on it (and perhaps it truly did) looking desperately for a place to hide. He glimpsed a dip in the ground ahead and dropped down into a creek bed where he flattened his back against the grasping roots of a tree. He then allowed his breathing to steady and his heart rate to calm. Mud stuck to his uniform and shoes from where he crouched and his hair had come undone at some point and cascaded across his face, obscuring parts of his eyesight.

“‐Deux. Un! Let the hunt begin~!” Rook’s voice rang through the trees. There were several beats of silence, then Rook's voice echoed from somewhere distantly off to his left.

It was.. Of course he was reciting poetry, leave it to Rook Hunt to add such a thing to the most unusual of situations.

"A card for the hunter, a card for the prey.

Neither side knows what the other might play.

A four of diamonds, or a joker?

A risky game, this game of poker."

Cater sank lower into the creek bed as Rook’s voice grew closer, praying that he’d chosen the best place to hide out of the other Caters.

"His pawns cannot protect him yet.

For they can only move ahead.

The others turn their path astray.

While the king can only outrun the fray."

He frowned. That was.. There was a deeper meaning to Rooks echoing words.When the hunter spoke again, he was closer. Much, much too close.

“He who waits upon his throne

Is first to fall when left alone.

He begs and pleads them, but alas,

They took the crown right from his grasp.

Diamond diamond in the mud,

the hunter calls out for your blood.

If you so truly wish to hide,”

A moment of silence.

“You really shouldn't shine so bright~”

It wasn't like Cater to freeze, and yet in that moment he'd been listening so carefully for Rook's next words so he would know when to run that he'd underestimated the hunter's location. When Rook spoke that last verse, he sounded as if now stood directly above the creek bed, close enough that Cater could hear his breathing. Rook took a breath, likely preparing to speak those final lines of his oddly morbid poem.

..When an obnoxious ringtone went off.

Cater's reflexes were automatically programmed to reach for his own cellular device when he suddenly stopped himself upon the realization that the ringtone was not his own.

“Bonjour!” He heard Rook answer from above him in a cheerful voice, an immediate switch from his previous tone. He was close enough that Cater could hear the murmurs of another voice on the other end of the line. “Roi de Poison! Is everything alright?” An exasperated tone answered and he heard Rook hum in surprise at something. “Really? Are you sure? Alright alright I'll be there soon. Au revoir~!” The other end of the call said something in a loud voice, likely protesting the abrupt hang up, but Rook ended the call regardless.

"It seems the little birdie got lucky. Ah well, I'm sure I'll catch it someday! You win today, Monsieur Magicam. Enjoy your victory, it's not every day someone escapes my hunter’s grasp~” He chuckled, then Cater heard his footsteps turn and begin to walk back the way he came. He let go of a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as Rook’s steps grew distant and nearly slumped down in relief before remembering he was crouching over a mud puddle. As he stood up, he allowed his clones to disappear and his full magic returned to him. Regardless of the abrupt end, it was clear the hunter had given up on his game for the day as the previously tense and threatening air had dissipated entirely. Cater dug around in his pockets for a hair tie and double checked that his phone was still there. He tied his hair back up and went to brush the drying mud off his pants, knowing how much he'd get reprimanded by Riddle for returning in such a state regardless of his efforts to tidy his appearance.

The setting sun cast long shadows among the trees and the orange-red colors of the sunset sky above reflected in the water of the small creek making the steadily running water look much too similar to that familiar red paint that dripped from the roses in the Heartslabyul gardens before a party.

..Or perhaps a trail of blood, running over rocks and away from the ashes of the fallen and defeated among a broken battlefield.

He shook his head. No! Bad Cater! Stop that, you’re thinking too dark!

As he began wandering back through the forest the way he came, the hunter's poem remained on his mind. He hated admitting it to himself but though Rook hadn't gotten to finish his game properly - whatever that meant - the hunter had most certainly won. Whether intentional or not, the words cut deeper than any arrow would. That hunter.. He knew much more than he would ever say. Cater suddenly paused, drawn out of his thoughts as he remembered that he hadn't even gotten the chance to do what he originally came there for. Putting on a bright grin, he pulled up his phone and snapped a selfie.

#walkinthewoods #NRCforest #beautifulsunset #prettyflowers #checkoutthiscreek

Uploaded.

Anyone looking at the photo would not see the exhaustion behind his smile or how dirtied his lower uniform was. They wouldn't know the oddity of an afternoon he’d just been through and it would always continue to stay that way.

Humming a cheerful tune to himself, he began the walk back, the only goal currently on his mind now being to return before Riddle’s set curfew as it was quickly getting dark.

Much farther away, and hidden once more within the darkness of a shadow cast behind a gnarled tree, those green hunter’s eyes watched the Heartslabyul student as he left with a knowing gaze.

"Though ages to polish a diamond may take,

To sculpt to perfection without a mistake.

No gem is flawless, no effort doth matter.

For with enough pressure, that diamond can shatter.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland fanfiction #cater diamond #rook hunt #fanfic #apologies for my odd writing style sjgdgjgn #looks kinda like a ship but i swear that wasnt my intention pff #star writes

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padfootagain · 4 years

Text

Snowstorm and Sabacc

Here I come again with a new fic for my winter event! I used our favourite reckless pilot Poe Dameron to write the snowstorm trope :)

Just a lot of fluff, I hope you all like it!

Gif not mine

Word Count :2778

"You know, when I said that I was tired of waiting around in the base and longed for some fresh air, I didn’t mean an air that fresh."

Poe merely chuckled, the sound carried away by the loud wind that roared through the branches of the trees around you. You didn’t need to hear his laughter to know that he was laughing, though. You knew him enough to know perfectly well what he was up to.

"I guess General Organa did take your word for it," he spoke loudly to cover the sound of the elements raging all around you.

"By fresh air, I didn’t mean a bleeding blizzard!" you complained just as you walked through some soft snow, your legs buried up to you knee.

You cursed between your teeth, before asking Poe for help. The pilot’s smile that lightened his features was too amused to your liking. But then, you loved when he smiled, even if it was caused by your ridicule, and that made you even madder at him.

"Just help me out, would you?" You shot him a glare as he took your hand and helped you out of the snow.

The walk through the woods was everything but simple. The terrain was rough, and the heavy snow that had been falling non-stop for a couple of weeks didn’t make the situation any easier.

Tall evergreen trees formed the forest, and you were easily lost through their resemblance. The wind turned the atmosphere colder for you than what it really was, and through the snow hitting your cheeks and wetting every inch of your body despite your warm clothes, you were starting to worry about hypothermia. For someone who came from a tropical planet, you found that Poe was surprisingly stern against these elements.

Beyond the trees, the sun was beginning to fall dangerously close to the horizon. The drop in temperatures that would follow could be lethal. And the snowstorm that was only beginning was announced to block all your movements for at least two days. You had to reach that rebel bunker in time.

"It’s not far from here, just a little further," Poe told you, as if reading your mind. "We’ll be there before nightfall."

"And if we’re not?"

"We will be."

You had always admired that side of Poe. The confident, passionate spark that seemed to be always burning behind his brown eyes. No matter how bad the situation looked, he was always the one to contradict the odds. You were a little less optimistic though.

Poe was right though, and you didn’t need so long to reach the shelter the General had promised. You were to retrieve some maps there, and use the bunker as a refuge while the storm passed. The transport coming to pick you up was to show up right after the storm lifted. That gave you two days to relax and try to understand the documents you were here to pick up. You weren’t sure what they were about. You had vaguely understood that it was about Rey, but the rest was unclear.

For now though, all you were worried about was to get to that door and finally be free of these snowflakes and wind.

The chalet was little more than four walls and a roof creaking under the pressure of the elements, threatening to be knocked down at any minute, it was far off from the bunker you had been promised. It stood in the middle of the forest, with no element to make the spot special through the ocean of trees. You wondered why it had been built there of all places. Maybe it was pure luck.

Lichens and other parasite plants grew on the rotting wood that enclosed the safe space. You wondered how the windows could be intact, but despite the dirt covering them, the glass was undamaged. A chimney shot out of one side of the roof, silent and unused. The cabin had been abandoned a long time ago.

Poe forced the door opened, but the rotten wood gave up without much of a fight.

Besides dust, there was a table and a couple of chairs inside, what one would need to cook and a bed. The hearth was empty, but there was some wood by the chimney, and it seemed that there was enough to get you through the night.

"What a delightful room we have," you mumbled, putting your backpack down by the closed door.

"Who could want a suite on Naboo when they can have this!" Poe chuckled.

"A frozen cabin in the middle of a snowstorm. You’re right, it’s much better than a warm bath and a soft bed."

"Come on, grumpy. Give me a hand with the fire, before we both freeze to death for real."

Soon there were red flames in the hearth, and Poe and you settled around the warmth. You reached for the device hidden in your backpack. You turned it on, signalling your position to the resistance.

"How long before the transport arrives after the storm?" you asked Poe.

"A good day," he answered, sniffing. "But first, we cross our fingers and pray the stars that this old shack won’t fall on our heads."

"You’ve got a point," you darkly agreed just as a loud blow shook the whole frame of the house, making every piece of wood crack and shriek in pain.

"Let’s get ready for the night, Y/L/N," he changed the subject, patting your shoulder.

The walls around you cracked again, and you were certain to see them move. You heaved a sigh… why did you have to play the hero and join the resistance in the first place?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You know, of all things you could have carried across the galaxy – and I mean all the useful things that we could have used to survive – I can't believe you chose to carry a game of Sabacc."

Poe merely laughed at your remark, and won another game. You heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Lucky we're not waging with money, or I would be broke by now," you pointed out.

"You underestimated your opponent," he joked. "That ought to teach you a lesson."

"Sure does!"

"You know what kind of Sabacc game would have been fun to play, and would have not made you lose all your money?"

"Why do I have a feeling you're going to propose a form of the game where we're supposed to lose our clothes instead…"

"Exactly! Strip Sabacc!"

"That could have been arguably a good idea if we were extremely drunk, if we were not on a frozen planet and a very cold shack, and of course, if Bantas had wings," you replied, rolling your eyes.

"You're no fun, Y/L/N!"

"You're an idiot, Dameron."

Outside the snowstorm raged still, but Poe's game was a good distraction from the roaring wind. The insulation in the cabin was terrible to say the least, and the temperature was very low still, despite a fire now burning in the tiny hearth behind you. You were still wearing as many warm clothes as you could. Despite your need to sleep, the loud wind howling through the branches of the trees all around the cabin made it impossible for both of you to find peace. So, instead, you were playing, waiting for your exhaustion to be overwhelming enough for the two of you to collapse into sleep.

The game started again, but the more time flew by, the less focused you became. Thoughts drifted more and more as your fatigue grew stronger, until your mind settled back on your previous mission.

Of course, it had to. You kept on thinking about that one mission, or more precisely, about that one moment…

Poe and you caught in a crossfire, no back up, BB-8 and your ship taken away, and odds so terribly low even Poe was growing desperate.

Then the flash of red light from the shot of a blaster, bursting through the night, violent contrast with the darkness all around you. Poe falling back against the wall that sheltered both of you, holding his side, slipping down along the bricks to the ground.

You remembered the blood next, your hands pressed against the hole carved in his flesh and skin, trying to stop the liquid from flowing out. But you were failing.

You remembered Poe's reassuring smile, his eyelids drooping closed as his strengths left him, his breathes shallower and shallower every time air left his lungs. And yet, he was smiling.

He was joking about him having a bad day, while you were panicking, not knowing how to save him, what to do, how to get back to base…

He was your best friend, and you had longed for a while now for him to be even more. You couldn't lose him…

You remembered his voice, low and raspy, coming out in breathy whispers distorted with pain as he raised his hand to your cheek.

I guess, if it's my last chance to do it…

And then there were a pair of lips on yours.

You hadn't talked about the whole incident again. While Poe recovered, it seemed inappropriate. And after he had recovered, well… you had missed a couple of opportunities to do so, and you were rarely alone.

You guessed now was probably the best opportunity you would get.

"Poe… I meant to ask you…"

You left your words suspended in mid-air, your sentence unfinished, and the pilot before you merely encouraged you to continue with a curious look.

"About… our last mission together…"

"What about it?"

He didn't seem willing to let his guard down. You wondered if he merely ignored his act as a way to protect himself or if he genuinely didn't remember anything. After all, he was dying at the time.

"Well… do you remember… when you were hurt, you… I mean… Do you remember what happened then?"

"Well, you dragged me away from the fight, bandaged me the best you could. I guess we could say that you saved my life, and I owe you one."

You slowly nodded.

"And… nothing else? You don't remember anything else that happened then? Something that… you did?"

Poe remained silent for a moment, frowning, and he put down his cards. He seemed to focus, searching his memories. You couldn't breathe.

He softly hummed while thinking, and leaned across the tiny table.

"I think I know what you're referring to," he slowly nodded.

"Well… don't you think we ought to talk about it?"

"Do we?"

"I think we do, yes."

"What do you want to say about it then?"

You had to admit that you didn't expect him to react like this, so casually, avoiding the point. You recognized the ghost of an amused smile at the corner of his lips.

You guessed he would make you spit it out yourself, and you hated him for it.

"Well, first thing, I'd like to know if you… I mean…" you stuttered, tripping upon your own words and your heartbeat erratic in your chest. "Did you mean that? I mean… you kissed me. Did you mean it or was it… just… a kiss because you thought you were dying and you would have kissed basically anyone who was there?"

His smile grew more evident, pulled from the shadows to shed a bright light on the room. There was a mix of tenderness and amusement painted all over his features that made you forget about the storm outside, that quietened the roaring wind and the snow smashed against the windows. The threat of the First Order suddenly felt remote, too far to be relevant now. But then, Poe had always had this effect on you. Just one of his smiles made you feel perfectly safe.

"You think I spend all my free time kissing strangers around the galaxy?" he asked back with a joking tone.

But you were not in a mood for laughing it off.

"No, but you were dying."

"Right… losing lots of blood too, if I remember right."

"Exactly! Perhaps you weren't thinking straight."

He remained silent for a moment, before reaching for your hand. His hold was reassuring and warm, calloused fingers brushing softly against the back of your hand. And while you stared at his dark brown eyes, looking almost black in the dim light shed by the burning flames, the world around you vanished, disappearing to leave only his gaze. When he answered, his voice was low and as warm as the flames by your side.

"Maybe I was thinking more clearly than I ever have before."

You stopped breathing altogether.

"What?"

He heaved a sigh.

"I… I've felt like this for a long time. Didn't mean to blow up our friendship, our team, though. Plus… a war isn't the best place to get involved in a relationship. But then, I almost died and… It sounds cliché, but dying does make you realize a thing or two. Like… the fact that it's worth taking the risk. I've been hiding my feelings for so long, and maybe the secret is not worth the stakes. Perhaps the leap of faith is worth the risk to fall. I know the war is making everything harder, and I know that we're friends but… I haven't seen you as a mere friend in a long, long time."

He gave you a sad smile, releasing a long breath he didn't even know he was holding, and he surprised you as you found withheld tears shining in his dark brown eyes.

"No matter what you say now, you can't imagine how good it feels to let it all out," he chuckled, out of breath.

You only noticed the tears rolling down your cheeks when you felt their salty taste pass your lip.

"That's a hell of a confession, Dameron," you smiled through your tears.

"You want a hell of a confession?" he asked, tightening his hold on your fingers. "How about: I love you, Y/N?"

It was your turn to tighten your hold on his hand. You were trapped in his dark, almost black irises because you could see the truth in his gaze, you could hear his honesty in his soft tone, feel how genuine his touch was. And you knew that he meant it all.

"We were kind of stupid to wait for so long, right?" you asked, brushing your tears away and grinning instead.

"Is that the beginning of a confession I hear, Y/L/N?"

You were about to speak again when the wind blew stronger than before, and the noise was so loud that you couldn't ignore it. The shout creaked through the branches of the trees, high-pitched and low at the same time, almost a human voice coming out of the shadows. Your belief in the Force made you wonder if it was a spirit of some kind. Both you and Poe had looked at the window in a jolt, but the sound slowly waned, swallowed by the night again. You focused on Poe again as you heard the table being pushed aside to allow him to get closer to you.

"It's just the wind," he whispered, and you were painfully aware of how close his face had come to yours now. "It's just a storm. It will pass, like all storms do."

You smiled again.

"Well, you've been a storm blowing upon my life for years, and you give me no sign that you'll pass any time soon."

He chuckled, and nodded in response.

"Some kind of storms are good to have around," he argued.

"You know what? I think that for once, you're right."

Your two smiles widened at the joke, and his face was now close enough to yours for you to feel his warm breath against your lips.

"I think I've got an idea or two for us to pass the time while this storm outside rages on," he offered.

"What could that be?"

"A surprise I think you'll like it."

"Really?"

"Really."

You let him lean closer, and closer, and closer until your lips brushed, touched, intertwined.

When you eventually broke away, the words escaped you without giving you a chance to hold them back.

"I love you, Poe."

The pilot could only grin.

"I hoped you'd say that."

The next moment, his lips were on yours again, your fingers lost in his dark curls, and his arms wrapped around you to draw you closer, impossibly close. The game of Sabacc was left disregarded next to you, the snowstorm forgotten, even the war seemed too far to be cared for.

It was just the two of you. And it was enough.

*******************************************

Taglist : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @wangmangagavroche @that-bwitch @wearetalkingtoyou @mxrihollxd @iwanttomeetnewpeople @yana-versio

#poe #poe x reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe fanfiction #poe imagine #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fanfiction #sw #sw fanfic #star wars #star was fanfic #sw imagine #star wars imagine #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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psychewithwings · 4 years

Note

I AM SAITAMA TRAIN THINGY ANON AND I JUST FOUND THE POST TY I LOVED IT— you write him so well i loved it sm sm sm. you up for more saitama sometime? :0 i forgot if you’re taking actual requests i’m gonna go check that

THEY ARE OPEN YES

consider: reader gets hurt fighting a villain (or smth) and saitama brings them back to his apartment. but!! he only has one bed >:)!! so they get the bed and he sleeps on the floor lmao. just sorta fluff :D? fluff for saitama? maybe they confess in the morning?? :D??? or just fluff headcanons (i didn’t wanna just ask for fluff headcanons because that’s pretty vague and shit :’D) whatever you’re up for!! ty for being a sick ass writer

Oh my honey bunny!!!! You are so very sweet AH! This legit made my dayyyy!

Im in love with these Saitama requests bc I’m in love with him, he does not get enough credit omggggg. (Also I’m so sorry this took me a hot sec to write, this request just deserved so much care because it was so genuinely sweet, I hope you like baby xxxx)

You were badly beaten up, bruised, and just all around embarrassed. You’d fought so hard, struggling to keep the toothy sewer monster away from the surrounding houses. The icy rain was coming down hard, making it difficult to see. It had flung you down on the ground, taking all the air from your body. Then Saitama knocks it down with a single punch... Yeah, you felt great. You were staring at him now, half with gratitude and half with the realization that you weren’t as strong as you thought you were. He smiled at you, when you blacked out.

You woke up, in an unfamiliar space. Your head was throbbing intensely. You tried to sit up and you groaned and clutched the side of your head, feeling how matted your hair was. “Here,” you watched through half lidded eyes as Saitama rose and grabbed you a glass of water. He dropped a tablet into it and you watched it fizz, the bubbles scattering around the water. He sat next to you, and even though your hand was on the glass, he didn’t let go of it. You took two long drinks, then handed the glass back to him. “You know, if you weren’t a hero who just saved my life, that would look pretty bad,” you said gesturing to the fizzing tablet. Saitama’s eyes got wide, “oh no, it’s- it’s just- dammit! It’s just something for head aches...” he said finally. You chuckled softly, you’d never seen him so flustered before.

Saitama was sitting on the floor watching tv. It was driving you crazy, he’d left without a single scratch and you’d passed out. Having to be saved infuriated you, but you didn’t want to be ungrateful to all his help. “My headache is feeling better, thanks.” Saitama smiled at you from his spot on the floor. He turned on the television and scanned the news. There was something happening a few cities over, it seemed pretty big and no heroes were there to help. Saitama rose, “I’ll be right back,” he mumbled as he left the room.

You couldn’t be mad at him for leaving you. It wasn’t his job to take care of you... The front door opened and shut and your heart sunk a bit. Was Saitama your friend? Sort of? He never spoke to you very much and his few word responses made it difficult to continue a conversation. But he had always given you a soft smile. It was so confusing.

The front door opened again and Saitama returned with a plastic bag, written on the side was THANK YOU with a smiley face. “Soup?” he offered. You laughed, scrunching your brow... this man was hard to read for being one so straight forward. “I figured you left to go fight whatever that was in City X... not bring me soup.” He sat and began to take the containers from the bag. “Oh, I did,” that’s Saitama for you I guess, “but then I saw the delivery guy at the door and figured I shouldn’t let you eat alone, so I let someone else to take care of it.” He handed you a container of soup and a plastic spoon. Saitama flipped the television back on, “let’s see how they're doing huh?”

“BREAKING NEWS, IT’S HEADED FOR THE POWER LINES IN CITY-” That was when all the lights went out. You could here him sigh in the darkness. “You don’t have a flashlight do you?” he asked. You softly replied, “no.” He said nothing but you heard him get up off the floor and stumble somewhere, there was rustling, then clinking, then a click, then a soft light. It was one of those home made, wine bottle oil lamps. He placed the light in the middle of the floor. It was only at that moment you realized you must be in Saitama’s bed. It was simply a mattress on the floor. It was however incredibly comfortable. The comforter was soft and crinkly. He only had one pillow but it was fluffy. “Do you want to play cards?” he offered, presenting a fresh deck. You nodded and he began to deal. He had beaten you at Go Fish 3 times before you suggested another game. Slap Jack was probably the wrong choice considering there was now a hole in his floor, but you’d both gotten a good laugh out of it and simply allowed the mattress to rest above the hole. The laughter from the Slap Jack event sparked the first real conversation you two had ever had. You found out that Saitama was funnier than you thought. The laughter evolved into more meaningful discussions about childhood and lost loves, and finally evolved into nothing at all, like what animals must think when humans change their clothes all the time... With all the talking you were starting to feel worse, weaker, which you resented. You pushed through, because more than anything, you were enjoying talking to him, getting to know who he really was other than this super powerful hero.

It was getting late and you went from feeling bad to feeling like death. However, you wouldn’t be telling Saitama that. Rest, that’s all you needed, yes. “You take the bed, I’ll sleep here,” he whispered. “What? No, I should go home, it’s fine.” He gave you a serious and semi annoyed expression, “do you think you could get yourself home?” Even though the tablet had eased the pain, it didn’t stop the chills, or the joint aches, or the room from spinning. “No...” you admitted reluctantly. “That’s what I thought.” He retrieved a towel and his red cape and made them into a pillow and a blanket. You’d both been laying in silence when you started to feel like you were freezing. You were underneath all the blankets, shivering. “Y/n?” he asked to your covered shape, “are you okay?” You shifted, which sent chills through your body. You heard him move towards you and he placed his hand on your forehead. “You’re sick, fever probably,” he moved and he placed the towel and his cape over you. He moved back towards the floor but you weakly caught his hand. “Do-do you think you could lay with me?” You rolled to look at him and his eyes were big, soft, watching you carefully, with concern. He climbed onto the small mattress beside you and gently laid his arm over your waist, pulling you into him. The warmth from his body, radiating through your back, and the light rise and fall of his breath lured you to sleep.

You awoke with the sun pouring through Saitama’s blinds. You were all sweaty, your fever must have broke in the night but Saitama was still holding onto you. You stirred, trying to give him space but he pulled you closer, “are you feeling any better?” he asked. “Yes, much,” you turned now to face him, “thank you.” Then he did something completely unexpected, he pressed his lips to your forehead then ran his hand down your cheek, “of course.” As soon as he did it, his eyes became wide, “I-I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-” You took his hand and kissed each of his fingers. There wasn’t anything to say. Some things were best left unspoken. He simply closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours.

#saitama #one punch man #fluff #fluffy #marshmallow fluff

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boliv-jenta · 3 years

Text

When you have some time to kill, love Din and like Cobb..

One shot fluffy smut. Cobb x reader. Din x reader. Am a sucker for romance with Din at the minute.

I Do

When you found him he was propping up the bar. Appearing at the door, your eyes caught his. A slight grin tugged at his lips before he downed his drink and made his way out to you. Neither of you spoke as he lead you down the narrow back alleys to his home. The cool night air did little to abate the heat of your skin. Opening his front door he gave you plenty of room to pass him. He played the part of the respectful gentleman perfectly.

Until the door closed, concealing you from prying eyes. His hands, lips, tongue, body engulf you in a way that was far from gentlemanly. He had you on the bed, half naked and arching into his touch before he spoke a word. "I could get the helmet if you like." he drawled. There was no judgement in his tone, just a genuine offer. In all you unspoken conversations about this moment you seemed to have said too much. He knew. Saw your feelings for Din. You couldn't help the anger that flared in you. In a second you had flipped your positions. Straddling his waist, fist gripping his open shirt tightly, pushing him down into the bed. "Easy sugar. I didn't mean to offend." He held his hands up, to placate you. "I pride myself on being a good host to visitors to my town. So it wouldn't be proper to deny you want you so sorely need." he emphasized the last part by rolling his hips, tantalisingly slow, underneath you. Pressing his hard length into you. "I guess I just felt I should make things clear, am not looking to get in between you and the Mandalorian. He's a good man." Thankfully, your eyes were still closed from the pleasure he had giving you by pressing into your heated core. He couldn't see the tears that glazed your eyes at his kind words about Din. "He is...and he nearly..." you cut yourself off.

"So that's what this is? His near death experience is running through your veins." His finger tips trailed down your bare arm. This whole time you had been naked from the waist up, legs spread over him but you didn't feel as exposed as you did in that moment. He laughed lightly "I've had my fair share of 'Thank the Maker we're alive sex' in my experience it's usually with the person that almost died, Sugar." The tension in you snapped, laughing hard, you rolled off him and lay your head down on him. "What if he doesn't feel the same?" you whisper into his chest, absently fiddling with his shirt." I think we both know he does. He stiffened like a fence post every time I gave you my attention." Smiling you're compelled to press a chaste kiss to flesh, a silent thank you for acknowledging what you were too scared to. He returns one to the top of your head. It's a sweet moment. Both of you enjoy it. Both of you know it's a sham. The touch is real but the tenderness behind it is meant for someone else.

"Come on Honey." He sits up bringing you with him. Handing you your shirt he throws his legs over the side of the bed, readying himself to stand and giving you some privacy to dress. "You should go back to him and tell him, before you lose him." His voice is wistful as he reaches for an open bottle of his dresser and takes a gulp. Once you're dressed you come to stand in between his legs, resting your hands on his shoulders. "Thank you Cobb."

He stands wrapping you in his arms as he reaches his full height. "Just being a good host." he tips his imaginary hat at you.

"Maybe it's not too late for you." you press. He blushes a little, tries to stammer an excuse. He wasn't the only one who could read people. "Go to her. If she's into the armour, you better move before Mando collects it in the morning."

His eyes sparkle as your suggestion. "Ok. A kiss for good luck?" The gentle, closed-mouth kiss you place on his lips soon grows to something more, your lips part as his tongue seeks entrance. His hands are on you again. The adrenaline in your system offsetting any guilt you would have had as your hands pull him closer. It's a nice moment to you, as if you're kissing something goodbye. No more seeking out cheap thrils like this. From now on Din is the only person you want. Thinking of building a life with him gives you a different type of thrill. Feeling ready to take that risk you pull away from Cobb. Walking over to his dresser you retrieve his helmet. Placing it firmly on his head you wish him luck before leaving.

The quiet walk back to the Crest did nothing for your nerves. The silence afforded you too much time in your head. So much so that you were half way up the ramp before you notice Din standing at the top. He was still. His stance was foreboding.

"You went to see Cobb." it wasn't a question or a accusation more like a bleak observeration.

"I did." you confirmed, there was no point lying.

"Why?" he simply asked.

You wished the answer was as simple. "I...I don't know." not exactly a lie but not the truth. You knew your motivation, why you went to Cobb and not Din but in this moment, standing before him none of that made sense. Why had you been so scared? The chance to call this man, this beautiful, brave, sweet, honourable man, your own was worth all the risk. He rocked slightly putting his weight on one leg looking at the ground. "I was scared." you continue. "Scared I almost lost you, scared I could still lose you if I..." your voice catching in your throat brought his head up to you. "..I just needed a distraction, comfort, something physical.." the last part just slipped out.

"You wanted sex." his shoulders slumped slightly.

"Yes. We didn't...but that's all it was going to be, just sex." you try to explain.

"Why..why couldn't you get that from me?" he murmured.

"Because with you it would never be just sex." you confessed. The weight of it lifting from your shoulders.

His shoulders pulled back. His back and limbs straightened. At a glance he looked furious. As he walked towards you, you thought about all the quarries you had seen in Carbonite. Their faces contorted in what you thought was pain from the freezing process. Right now you wondered if their faces were filled with residual fear from him stalking towards them. He was a terrifying sight. Determined, resolute. As his hand came up, no matter how much you trusted him not to hurt you, you couldn't help but flinch. His hand violently rip off his helmet. The sound of it crashing to the floor echoed around the ship. Before the sound even faded he was on you. His lips crashing to yours, it was inexperienced, sloppy, all teeth and tongue. All too rough. All too perfect.

He pulls at you, trying to get you closer despite the fact that there's no space between you. Throwing his gloves off he cups your face, his beautiful brown eyes looking deep into yours. "You're mine. My riduur. My everything. You will never lose me because I cannot lose you." Before you can react he's kissing you again. His previous words apparently in his touch. Pieces of his armour clatter to the floor as he keeps you pinned between him and the ship. You let him. You've given yourself to him completely now. He's in control. It's chaotic and calming. Overwhelming yet not enough. It weakens you and strengthens you beyond anything you thought possible. You are his. That makes him yours. Regaining some control of yourself you stop his movements. His brow twitches in question. Reassuringly you caress his face "I love you."

"You do?" he asked suddenly adorably uncertain.

You would have loved him no matter what he looked like but you couldn't help but be taken by the way his grin lit up his handsome face. "I do."

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #cobb vanth #cobb vanth x reader

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localswordlesbian · 4 years

Text

Something There That Wasn’t There Before: Chapter 2

Read Chapter 2 on AO3

Read Chapter 1 on Tumblr

In which Martin realizes what his mother's actions mean for his future, and he finally meets this reclusive "boss" he's been hearing so much about.

Martin blinked at where the door had bin, his brain coming to a complete halt as he stared. What had just happened?

A whistle behind him shook him out of his stupor. He turned to see the two strange people looking at him. Helen looked amused while Michael looked troubled.

“Well, that was the most fun I’ve had since Mary dropped little Gerry off months ago!” Helen crooned, dropping to balance on the balls of her feet to be level with Martin – he hadn’t noticed he’d sank down against the wall, sitting on the damp ground.

“I have to say,” Michael mused. “She seemed nasty, but I didn’t expect that. Are you okay?”

Martin couldn’t answer. His mother wanted him to stay. She wanted him to stay in this terrifying castle with these weird people rather than going home with her. She no longer wanted him to care for her – he’d braved the woods, and for what? The bitterness rose in his throat again and threatened to choke him, and his eyes stung. He blinked, refusing to cry in front of these two. Whoever they were.

When he managed to look up, there was another door, this one purple, shimmering in the wall. Michael was looking at him, his expression soft. Helen had a gleam in her eye that made Martin shiver with apprehension.

At his doubtful look, Michael shrugged. “This will go to the dining room. You look like you’ve had a long night.”

Martin debated arguing, saying he didn’t trust Michael as far as he could throw him, but exhaustion weighed down his bones, and even holding his head up and eyes open was taking all his energy. So he took a step forward, opening the door and stepping through. As the door closed, he felt a pressure at the back of his head that had him groaning in pain before he stepped out onto solid ground, vertigo causing him to lean to the side before collapsing with a heavy thump.

He vaguely heard voices shouting as he drifted out of consciousness, and the last thing he heard was someone asking “Is he alright?” before the darkness took over his vision and he fell into blessed sleep.

Martin came to slowly, grogginess keeping his eyes closed. He heard several voices around him.

“He came through one of Helen’s doors. I wonder what happened.”

“I saw him when he walked in, freezing his poor arse off. Said he was looking for his mum.”

“D’you think he found her?”

“Do you happen to see an old lady anywhere around here, Tim?”

“Maybe Helen sent her through a different door!”

“Well, he’s here now, wherever his mum is.”

There was a pause in the conversation, then: “He’s pretty cute, though.”

“Oh for god’s sake, Tim–“

“What? I’m not wrong.”

Martin fought to open his eyes, bright light assaulting his senses as he took a deep breath. He vaguely saw three figures hovering over him. “Where am I?”

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” one of the figures exclaimed. Martin squinted, trying to make out any features, to no avail. Someone must have taken off his glasses.

As if on cue, a hand held them out to him. “Here,” came the kind feminine voice. Martin put on his glasses and saw a dark skinned girl sitting on the couch near his legs, with glasses of her own and her dark, curly hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She had a kind smile on her face. “How are you feeling?”

Martin sat up, attempting a smile back. “I– I’m alright. Confused, but alright.”

The girl smiled sympathetically, fidgeting with the hem of her dark T-shirt. “That’s understandable. My name’s Sasha. Sasha James.” She stuck out her hand to him, and he shook it.

“Martin. Martin Blackwood.”

Sasha smiled at him again. “It’s nice to meet you, Martin. Welcome to our weird little family.”

Martin took another look around the room. Standing next to Sasha was the man he’d encountered yesterday, dressed in a black studded leather jacket and ripped jeans. He nodded at Martin, and Martin nodded back. “Gerard Keay, but you can call me Gerry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Martin said meekly.

Lastly, next to Gerry, there was a man dressed in a Hawaiian shirt so bright and colourful that Martin wondered whether this man was Helen and Michael’s missing third. He was broad, with tanned skin and black hair that looked like it was purposely styled to be messy. He was grinning, leaning down and bracing his hands next to Martin and leaning close to his face as Martin leaned away. “Yeah, I was right, he is cute,” the man said conclusively, and Martin could feel his face heating. “I’m Tim Stoker. Guess you’re one of us now.”

Martin chuckled nervously. “And, uh, who exactly would that be?”

Tim leaned back, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “Archival Assistants, which basically means we laze around and sometimes fetch a file for Jon.”

“Jon?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Sasha explained. “Our boss.”

That must have been the boss Michael and Helen mentioned. “Ah. Helen and Michael mentioned him. Wondered if I was, uh, his type? Anyone know what that’s about?”

The three assistants exchanged a look, seeming to have a silent conversation that Martin wasn’t privy to.

“That’s a long story,” Gerry finally said. “If you want to stay, you can. If not, you’re free to go. You don’t have any responsibility to anyone here.”

Martin considered Gerry’s words. He could leave, try and find his way back to town, figure out what to do. What would he do? His mother didn’t want him, she’d made that perfectly clear. It wasn’t like he had friends he could stay with, and though he could live in the library he didn’t particularly want to burden Phil. He remembered his promise to Jack with a pang, wondering whether the boy was waiting at the well for him to return and read to him. “I–I don’t really have anywhere to go,” he said finally, cringing at how self-pitying he sounded. Good job, Martin.

Sasha gave him another kind smile, placing a hand on his knee. “It’s okay, Martin. You can stay here. It might even help, having another assistant.”

Martin nodded, returning Sasha’s smile shyly. “Do you guys live here? Is there anyone else?”

Tim pursed his lips. “Yeah, we live here, though not by choice.” Sasha smacked his arm. “What? Might as well tell him the truth.” At Martin’s concerned look, Tim’s face softened. “Basically, the boss pissed off a very powerful witch of a man, and we all happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. That place being here, and the time being when that bastard–

“Tim–“

“Fine, absolute piece of shit fucker–“

“Tim!”

“Oh, come off it, Sasha! You know it’s true. That asshole decided that the best punishment was to trap Jon here, turning him into an avatar of the Beholding until someone falls in love with him. So, of course, Jon being Jon just locked himself upstairs in the West Wing half the time because he thinks no one could love a monster.”

“Give Jon a break, Tim. It can’t be easy for him.”

“I know it’s not.” Tim sighed, meeting Sasha’s eyes for a moment before looking back to Martin. Gerry stood quietly off to the side. “Look, I love Jon as much as any of you guys, but this is getting ridiculous. The longer he stays locked away, the longer we’re stuck here.”

Gerry met Martin’s eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way. We’re not asking you to seduce our boss or anything. We’re just explaining the situation.”

Sasha jumped. “Oh, of course we’re not suggesting anything, Martin!” she said hurriedly. “No one expects you to. Like Gerry said, just explaining.” Tim said nothing.

“What’s the Beholding?” Martin asked. “And who was this witch man?”

Tim sighed. “The Beholding is one of fourteen fear entities that sort of–watches over our world. Every fear is a result of these fourteen. The Beholding is the fear of being watched, your secrets being known. Jonah Magnus, the motherfucker, was an avatar of the Beholding a couple hundred years ago, and has kept himself alive by transferring his eyeballs into a host.”

Martin cringed. “Ew.”

Tim nodded gravely. “Ew indeed. Anyway, that host is who cursed Jon, because he refused to become an avatar willingly. So now we’re all fucked.”

Martin sat back, mind reeling. “Huh,” was all he managed to say.

Sasha nodded before patting his knee again. “I know, it’s a lot. Don’t worry yourself too much – again, it really doesn’t need to involve you.” She sounded genuine as she gave him a smile and stood. “Come on, I’m going to make tea. Maybe you can meet the others, too.”

Martin smiled gratefully at her as he stood, Gerry following while Tim threw his arm over Martin’s shoulder, his mischievous grin back. “Welcome to the family.”

Martin did end up meeting everyone. Daisy, with her muscular, scarred arms, freckled skin, shorn blonde hair, and clipped Welsh accent. Basira, with her soft smile, olive skin, and pale blue hijab matching her mug of tea. Georgie, with her friendly demeanour, skin just a shade lighter than Sasha’s, and kinked hair pulled back with a headband. Melanie, Georgie’s girlfriend, with her brown bob of wavy hair, pale skin, perpetual scowl, and sightless glass eyes. He even met the cat, The Admiral, a fat orange thing that purred like an earthquake in a blender when scratched behind the ear just right.

Over the next few days, Martin helped where he could, retrieving files for Sasha that were too high for her to reach, helping Basira sort through old papers and journals in the castle’s library, giving Georgie a hand with cooking. He even had some lively discussions with Gerry about books they’d both read.

Martin also learned everyone’s tea preferences, and would occasionally bring people piping hot mugs while they worked or relaxed. If he was going to be staying here, he was determined to be helpful.

That left one person he hadn’t met yet – the reclusive Archivist. Jonathan Sims. The cursed man, the man someone had to fall in love with in order to free everyone in the castle.

Everyone except Martin.

He nearly scoffed at the whole situation. It sounded right out of a fairy tale. He wondered what being an avatar entailed. Could Jonathan Sims see everything? Hear everything?

“Essentially, yes.”

The unfamiliar voice behind him – posh, deep, and smooth – made Martin jump, spilling piping hot tea over the rim of his mug and splashing his hand, causing him to hiss in pain. He whipped around, clutching his hand, to see who had spoken, and he nearly crashed into the counter.

Standing in the doorway to the kitchen was a frail man, with brown skin covered in circular scars. The man was short, the top of his head perhaps reaching up to Martin’s nose. He had a mottled burn scar covering one hand, and a line at his throat as though he’d been held at knifepoint. He had long, wavy black hair that was streaked through with gray, which he’d put in a bun on top of his head. He was dressed in a collared shirt and jumper, and a pair of glasses perched at the end of his nose.

For a moment, Martin simply stared, speechless. “I–what?”

The man walked over to him, eyes never leaving Martin’s face. Martin’s neck prickled, like he was being watched. “You were wondering if I, Jonathan Sims, can see everything, hear everything. Because I’ve been turned into an avatar of the Beholding. And the answer, essentially, is yes.”

It took Martin half a minute of gawking at this man before he could answer. “You can read my mind?”

“For the most part. I tend to stay out of people’s heads – it’s a bit of a privacy issue. But you’re new, and I was curious. Martin Blackwood, was it?”

Martin blinked. “Yeah, I– could you not do that? Look in my head? Privacy issue and all.”

Jonathan nodded. “Of course. I apologize, I should have mentioned it before. Also, you can just call me Jon.”

Martin nodded slowly. “Okay, Jon,” he said. Jon looked up at him, an amused smile quirking his lips upward. Martin realized with horror that he’d said Jon’s name just for the sake of saying it. He fumbled for something to say. “Would you like some tea?”

Jon looked up at him for a moment before nodding. “That would be nice.”

Of course, Martin thought. Of course the reclusive guy that needs someone to fall in love with him is exactly my type. Of course he’s adorable and good looking. God has cursed my hubris.

Martin tried to chase the thoughts out of his head as he got to making Jon a cup of tea, but it was no use. He was in so much trouble.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #au #beauty and the beast au #sasha james #tim stoker #gerard keay #daisy tonner #basira hussain #georgie barker #melanie king #fluff #alternate universe #disney au #alternate universe fantasy #jonmartin fluff

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colonel-insomniac · 3 years

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Hey, I wanted to make a request? Slightly angsty Spongebob musical fic, with the SB/Pat/Sandy, set to Boy in the Bubble by Alec Benjamin. Thank you if you do!

I completely forgot i can answer asks oops so here!

“It was 6:48, I was walking home. Stepped through the gate and I’m all alone, I had chicken on the plate but the food was cold, then I covered up my face so that no one knows…”

Bobby had never really fit in with the people in his town. The other people thought he was too extroverted, too trusting. They seemed to love to tell Bobby that he was a boy in a bubble, that no one in the town was genuinely friends with him, that he ought to break out of his fantasy world. Bobby always brushed it off though, took the negative statements and pretended it didn’t affect him. He didn’t want pity from others. If everyone was using him, well...he likes helping people, so it isn't an issue anyhow.

“How is this my fault?” Bobby wondered aloud to the dark air as he kicked the door shut behind him. He felt no need to cover up his face, no one was home, so no one would see. Padding to the kitchen, he digs out some ice cubes, placing them in a bag and holding it to his eye. As he slumps on the couch, he feels his cat Gary climb onto his lap. The tabby chirps at him, and Bobby nods his head, hugging Gary to him.

“Oh Gare-Bear,” the boy sighed, “How do I get myself into these situations time and time again?” The hand that wasn’t occupied with holding an ice-bag to his eye scratched the cat’s head. In response, Gary purred, and simultaneously meowed, as though responding to the boy.

“I didn’t want trouble, I’m the boy in the bubble, but then came trouble…”

Bobby Porter does not get into fights. People see him as the consistently optimistic boy who is too naive. But his temper at times flares, and the one thing he will absolutely not stand for is people being rude to his friends.

Of course, maybe approaching William Fitzgerald while he was surrounded by his posse of friends might not have been the smartest choice. But watching alongside Patrick and Sandy as his buddy Edward was basically publicly humiliated was not okay. Maybe the furthest thing from it, in all honesty.

So Bobby did what he thought was right and marched forward. As he recalls Pat grabbing his arm in an effort to stop Bobby, the boy lifts his chin slightly, still adamant that his decision was right.

"When my mom walked into the living room, she said, "Boy, you gotta tell me what they did to you," I said, "You don't wanna know the things I had to do" she said, "Son, you gotta tell me why you're black and blue…"

Bobby remembers the surprise that passed over Williams' face before he disguised it with disdain.

"You need to leave Edward alone now." He had said through gritted teeth.

"Oh really? And why is that?" The pretentious musician replied, arching an eyebrow.

With a brief glance at Eddy, Bobby felt his anger strengthen. A crowd had begun forming, and he wasn't sure where Pat and Sandy were at that moment. "Because Edward is by far the most talented person ever, more talented than your pretentious self could ever be." Bobby spat the words out, and relished the surprise flitting on the taller guy's face.

His satisfaction was short lived, however. The next thing Bobby remembers is the feeling of something hitting his eye and him falling backwards. A nervous hush fell over the crowd as they waited for Bobby to retaliate.

"I said I didn't want trouble, I'm the boy in the bubble, but then came trouble…"

Bobby scrambled to his feet and threw a right hook at William. Logically speaking, Bobby knew that it likely was not William who punched him, but he knew this was the musicians fault.

William stumbled back, cursing out Bobby as he clutched his cheek.

"And my heart was pumping, chest was screaming, mind was running, air was freezing, put my hands up, put my hands up, I told this kid I'm ready for a fight…"

There's a knock at the door that startles Bobby out of his daze. Gary hops off his lap and trots to the door, sticking his head out the little cat door he had installed.

He knew Patrick and Sandy were likely the ones outside. He also knew they didn't agree with how he'd handled things. But he picked himself off the chair and opened the door, and was surprised when he saw Edward there as well. So surprised, he accidentally lowered the bag of ice.

Sandy winced and Pat looked away. Eddy looked down at his shoes, his clarinet case clutched in his hand. Flushing with embarrassment, Bobby steps aside and gestures for them to enter. "Bobby, Eddy here has got somethin' to tell ya." Sandy broke the silence, glancing at Eddy with a nod.

Curious, Bobby leaned forward in his chair. Ed rolls his eyes and looks away "Thank you for standing up for me. And...I'm sorry about earlier."

"Punch my face, do it 'cause I like the pain, every time you curse my name, I know you want the satisfaction, it's not gonna happen…"

After hitting William, Bobby saw another fist flying at him, and ducked out of the way, and directly into a different hand. This time, however, Bobby didn't fall back. Instead, before his attacker could pull his hand back all the way, Bobby had grabbed a hold of his wrist and managed to pin it behind the guys back.

The idea of kicking this guy briefly fled through Bobby's head, but instead Bobby shoved the guy away, flinching when he touched his cheek and it came back slightly red.

As Bobby went to retrieve his backpack he'd dropped, he heard Eddy mumble "I didn't ask you to do that."

The shorter boy spun around, head slightly tilted to meet Eddy's gaze. "Eddy, how is it that this is my fault now? I stood up for you, I didn't see anyone else do that. I thought I did something good." Bobby stormed away after, entirely wrapped up in the overwhelming exhaustion and pain.

"Knock me out, kick me when I'm on the ground…"

Peering at Edward before slumping in his chair, Bobby shrugged. "It's not too big a deal, because I think it was the right thing to do."

Mostly because Bobby couldn't see from his left eye, he didn't realize Patrick was kneeling at his side until he felt his best friend's hand gently tugging at the bag.

Defenses instantly raised, Bobby pulled away. He felt guilty at the heartbroken way Pat looked. "I— Patrick, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it in any way, I just…" Bobby bit his lip and looked down.

Bobby stood, and in a whisper, said "please, could you guys leave me alone for now?" He moved toward the door, intending to go on a walk, but Sandy appeared before him. So he backed away, only to bump into Pat. "Don't you get it lil' dude?" Sandy giggled.

"You aren't going anywhere." Patrick finished for Sandy, and wrapped his arms around Bobby.

Noticing Eddy trying to exit the scene, Sandy pulled him into the hug, trapping him in the embrace.

"It's only gonna let you down, come the lightning and the thunder, you're the one who'll suffer, suffer…"

Content in knowing that his friends weren't mad at him, Bobby allowed himself to feel the swell of genuine love for his friends, and addition to the feelings he's already felt for Sandy and Pat. But that's for another time.

In the end, he surmised, it doesn't really matter what anyone wants to tell me because these people mean the world to me.

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buckysrighthanddoll · 4 years

Text

Born Again

Pairing: Loki x fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, hostage situation, murder (of the bad guys), fluff

Loki is old. He has existed nearly since the beginning of time, and certainly for millennia before ever finding the Avengers. He doesn’t remember too much of his childhood, although Thor most certainly does, and he certainly doesn’t remember ever celebrating his birthday.

Loki was not born on his birthday. At least, he doesn’t feel like he was. He was born when he met her. The (Y/H/C) Avenger with an attitude yet a philosophical view on life. She wasn’t a human, per se, but she looked like one. She was stunning, more ravishing than any goddess Loki had ever encountered. It felt as though gravity was turned off when she walked into the room since it seemed so light in her presence. She left flowers behind in each step she took. The sun and the moon seemed to bow down to her; it was as if she was the reason the world spun.

Nobody had ever made Loki feel the way that she did. He was smitten with her, and he made leaps and bounds to attempt to be a good person just for her. He went out of his way to help her and to be noticed by her. He had never felt more human in his entire godly existence.

Needless to say, he was very, very scared.

(Y/N) definitely noticed him. She took one look at the prince, heard one word from his gun-like mouth, and she fell like a bullet casing. While Loki thought gravity turned off when she was around, she thought that someone cranked that bitch up--that’s how hard she was falling. He didn’t have to change for him. He didn’t have to even try, but he was just so damn perfect.

“I still can’t believe your team is even letting me on a mission,” Loki scoffed.

“They say that you’ve changed a lot since the attack on New York,” She responded, getting geared up to get on the quinjet.

“Do you agree?”

“Well, yeah. You’re not under Thanos’ thumb anymore.”

“Do you think I need to do better?” He asked her. This side of Loki was unusual. He was smooth and charming and so eloquent with his words, but now he sounded vulnerable and open.

She stopped zipping her uniform and turned to look at him as he sat on her bed. “Loki, I don’t think you ever needed to change.” The words were simple, yet they meant the world coming from her. “You’re amazing as you are.”

(Y/N) continued to get ready, not noticing the genuine smile that adorned Loki’s face.

They get on the quinjet. This was supposed to be a solo mission, but Tony was convinced that she could use the backup just in case, although she was almost immortal. Most of the team was already on a far larger mission, with the exception of Clint, who was out of commission until his shoulder healed fully.

“What’s the plan, love?” Loki asked. She smirked and shook her head, trying to ignore the pet name that he had given her.

“I mean, it’s a basic hostage situation. I’ll start at the north entrance while you--”

Loki could hardly focus. He could only look at her mouth, the way the words flowed from her lips like a mother language, the way her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, the way she spoke with her hands. He was entranced with someone who he believed he could never have. He had dealt with so much pain and agony throughout his entire life; he was a bad person--how could someone like you love someone like him?

The quinjet landed and camouflaged, and the duo stepped out. She went through the north entrance to create a distraction while he used his magic to pop himself into the building and retrieve the hostages one by one.

There were fifteen in total--all young boys and girls who were in the process of being sold into human trafficking rings. Loki managed to get most of them out before they realized what she was up to. From there, it was guns blazing.

(Y/N) was a badass when it came to fighting. Her near-immortality came at an advantage, such as centuries of previous experience in comparison to these knuckle-heads’ decade combined, and a keen sense of what was going to come next. No man was left undetected, and no man was safe from the hell she would unleash.

“How many children are left?” She yelled to Loki.

“Two,” He responded as he stabbed one of the eight men in the jugular.

“Get them,” She said, dodging a bullet and grabbing a man’s gun. She pulled his arm away from him and kicked him square in the chest, effectively dislocating his shoulder and knocking him to the ground in one motion. She shot him in the forehead and moved on to the next one.

“But, love, you’re vastly outnumbered.”

“Did I stutter?” She snarked. Loki groaned but obliged; his faith in her was unmatched.

By the time Loki returned, the remaining men were dead and his precious (Y/N) was holding her arm. “Are you hurt?” He asked, dropping everything in an attempt to help her.

“Shot in the arm; I’ll be fine in an hour or so.” Another perk to her near-immortality was her uncanny ability to heal quickly from most wounds.

The pair get back onto the quinjet, this time with fifteen children, and (after checking the kids for injuries) they begin their flight to the compound where the authorities were waiting.

“It’ll heal quicker if you let me take care of it,” Loki offered. (Y/N) sighed and put the aircraft into autopilot, unzipping her shirt and pulling it over her head to hold her arm out toward him. He ignores just how fit she looks, instead opting to focus on helping rather than ogling. He makes quick work of removing the bullet, which was thankfully in one piece, and then wrapping it with the nearest first aid kit. She zips her uniform back up but doesn’t go back to flying just yet.

“Thank you, Loki,” She says. Her voice is softer than normal, and he doesn’t know if it’s the adrenaline in her veins or if he’s just hallucinating this, but she gives him this look of adoration. They stare into each other’s eyes, and for a moment time stopped. “Are you going to kiss me or am I going to have to make the first move?”

“I’m afraid you already have, my pet,” Loki smiles. They close the gap between them and let their lips meet in the softest and purest kiss either had experienced. The world stops spinning. Time halts. Hell itself freezes over and Loki momentarily believes that he is in nirvana because her lips are like nothing else he has ever touched. It is no doubt that he is head over heels for her, and she most certainly feels the same way.

When she pulls away for air, she feels the most human she has since she was transformed into this experiment-gone-weird thing that she is now. Her eyes nearly glow with love and elation. “And don’t be afraid to do that whenever you want,” She smirks.

“Oh, I’m certainly not afraid,” Loki says, going in for another kiss.

Loki was nearly ageless. He has witnessed some of the most horrific things this universe has offered, yet he forgets them whenever she blesses him with her very presence. He can’t remember his own birthday anymore since he’s far too old to even care, but it doesn’t matter. He wasn’t born on his birthday. He was born when he met her.

#born again #loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki one shot #loki laufeyson one shot #loki laufeyson x reader #fluff #marvel #marvel one shot #one shot #mcu #mcu one shot

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sylvain-writes · 4 years

Text

Scarlet Letters (TMNT Raphael x Reader)

Chapter 5/8: Something’s Gotta Give

Bed sharing.

(Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ao3)

“I’m not…” Raphael shakes his head as his chin drops to his chest. “That’s not me,” he says quietly. And then he’s moving.

He makes it across the room before you abandon the dishes on the table to follow. “Not what?” you ask as the turtle perches himself on the edge of the couch. “You’re not making any sense.”

His broad shoulders slump as he sits with his elbows on his knees. The position must be uncomfortable, but the grimace twisting his features doesn’t seem to be in response to physical pain.

“Maybe I don’ think things through,” he mutters. “An’ I get carried away.” Raphael’s hands pass over each other in a smooth, yet nervous, pattern. “But fearless? Nah, that’s my brutha.” A quiet chuckle breaks Raphael’s explanation; it holds more sorrow than mirth. “Fearless. I-I called him that sometimes, y’know? Started as a joke when he first took up the role as our leader. But… he earned it. He earned it every day we-”

“Did something happen to him?” Hearing Raphael speak in the past tense, you know that can't mean anything good.

Raphael heaves a sigh and forces another chuckle at his choice of words. “We didn’t exactly part amicably.”

You can see Raphael is trying to keep things light, but you want him to know that he doesn’t have to. Not with you.

Your hand alights to his as you take a seat beside him, and you give it a gentle squeeze. He turns his palm under yours, open to receive your touch. Your fingers curl around his and he doesn’t let go. You wonder, not for the first time, if he remembers holding your hand as he slept. You wonder if he notices how perfectly your hand fits in his.

“We fought,” he goes on. “We were always fightin’. He followed me topside. Then, to the rooftops where we got mixed up with some unsavories. He probably thinks I ditched ‘im. Probably why he told the guys not to come lookin’ fo’ me.”

“Raphael.” There’s no doubt of your affection when you speak his name. With his hand in yours, it doesn’t feel like this thing between you is one-sided. “I don’t believe for a second that your brothers don’t want to look for you.”

“They ain’t the ones that dragged me outta that alley. They ain’t found me here.” He has no idea just how bad the weather conditions have gotten.

“There’s a foot of snow on the ground and a thick layer of ice on top of that,” you explain with a sympathetic frown. “No one is out looking for anybody. Fearless or Hot-head, I doubt any of you turtle guys handle the cold well.”

“Heh, sure.”

Knocking your shoulder against him doesn’t feel like colliding with a wall. There’s give to the rippling muscles of Raphael’s arm. There’s a playful quality to the way he sways, going along with your action.

“Red,” you remind him, “you were slipping in and out of consciousness all night. As soon as the temperature rises above freezing, we’ll get you home.”

His hand gently releases yours and your heart sinks at the loss, but then it’s back. The pad of Raphael’s thumb drags across your knuckles as he sits in thought. Each pass of his thumb eases your anxiety. His quietude convinces you that he’s taking your concerns to heart.

“I should call them,” he says hesitantly, like it’s a responsibility he knows he can’t put off any longer. “Where’s my pack?”

You drag your lower lip between your teeth, knowing you should have searched sooner. “There wasn’t one. I had to make sure you were gonna be OK before I checked the alley.”

Though leaving Raphael’s side isn’t something you feel ready to do, you know it’s time to show him what you found.

From the credenza at the front door, you retrieve the forked weapon and smashed communication device.

Raphael accepts both from you in stunned silence before setting the sai aside. The remains of the shell phone lie in pieces in his hands.

“It must have gotten damaged during your fall from the roof.”

Raphael’s reluctance to speak with his brothers is replaced by urgency. “I gotta get back out there. If somebody stole that pack-” In his rush to stand, Raphael’s knees buckle and he lets out a pained grunt.

“Easy.”

“My bruthas could be in trouble.” Unsteady on his feet, he reaches out to find support. His hand clamps onto your shoulder with a grip strong enough to hold him up, but you marvel at his control. He doesn’t hurt you. Even when it would have been easy for him to get lost in his own panic and pain, to forget how fragile you are in comparison, he keeps your safety in mind.

Instinctively, you do the same for him. With a hand on his waist, you draw attention to the fresh bandages protecting his side. “Raphael,” you warn him, “you’re in no condition to go out there.”

His eyes plead for your understanding, for your consent. “But I gotta.”

Your hand pets the exposed skin of Raphael’s hip and encourages him closer. You don’t want to watch him beg, but you can’t bear to look away. “Then, we go together. Tomorrow. After we’ve both gotten some real rest.”

“But-” His anxious resolve is fading. He’s listening to you.

“Tomorrow.”

Raphael touches the bandage at his side and his fingers meet yours. As he looks down at your hands together, the bulk of his impatience dissolves into a sigh. “Yeah, yeah,” he concedes. “Tomorrow.”

⁂

“Are you gonna make this weird?” you tease, pulling up the blankets to climb into the sofabed.

Raphael huffs as you lie back on the pillow opposite him. “I’m not gonna make it weird.”

“Really? Cause you’ve been looking everywhere but at me when I’m the only other person in the room, and I gotta say, that’s making it feel a little weird.”

“You’re da one makin’ it weird by talkin’ about it.”

“Uh huh.” Staring at the ceiling, you fill your lungs and heave a heavy sigh.

⁂

After discovering that an hour trading huffs and hums does nothing to dissipate the awkwardness, Raphael concedes defeat. “Y’know, I gotta admit, dis is weird.”

You roll onto your side to stare at the wall of blankets and couch cushions the turtle has piled between you. “Can’t imagine why."

Weird or not, you leave the pillows in place. If they help Raphael feel even slightly better about sharing a bed, you won't pressure him into taking them down.

⁂

It’s a testament to your exhaustion that you’re able to fall asleep as easily as you do. You don’t mean to. Your intention is to stay up, to make sure Raphael is able to settle before you succumb to your need to rest.

It’s the bounce of the mattress, the soft groans as Raphael struggles in discomfort, that wake you.

“What’s wrong?” you ask groggily, but as soon as you’re up, you know. You can feel the chill from the tip of your nose to the ache in your fingers.

He says, “It’s nothin’,” like you can’t hear the chatter of his teeth.

You hug the heavy quilt around your shoulders and call his bluff. “You’re cold.”

“Gee, you must be a friggin’ mind reader.”

You secretly wish that were true. “I’m a nurse, actually. And warm-blooded. And even I'm freezing.”

There’s no response from beyond the wall.

With a sigh of exasperation, you take a calculated risk. One cushion at a time, you pull the barrier down. Raphael doesn’t protest. Surprisingly enough, you find him lying same as you were, facing the center of the bed, quilt drawn up to his chin.

“The cold ain’t gonna kill me,” he insists.

Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you smile. “I can help with that, if you let me.”

“What, ya gonna kill me?” he jests.

You level him with a glare, but tease him in kind. “Maybe.”

"Ha," he laughs. It’s one note, one puff of air straight from his chest. But it’s genuine, and even in the dark, you can see him smile. “Alright, alright. Easy, Killa.”

As you're adjusting the blankets to better insulate and share your heat, Raphael goes still.

"Whaddaya got there?" he asks.

You play dumb. You know what he's asking. You're wearing a sleeveless top specifically to help share your body's warmth, so of course the scar on your shoulder is exposed. "What's what?"

The press of Raphael's fingertips beside the scar comes as a surprise. The old wound hurts the same as always - dull and persistent - but the chill of Raphael's fingers soothes the ache.

"It happened a long time ago. I was just a kid."

"You were just a kid," Raphael’s whisper is as soft as the touch of his fingertips as he traces the lines of the old wound. "Someone did this to a kid?"

"How do you know someone did this? Maybe I fell. Maybe it was surgery. Maybe-"

"Sure,” Raphael placates. His fingers continue to follow the dark branching veins that spread from your scar’s center. “Maybe. But it wasn't, was it?"

It’s your turn to look away. The memories of that night flood your mind - the loss of your father, the searing pain as a nameless poison stained your blood, your other parent’s listless stare as you wept. Crying didn’t solve anything back then. But now, for the first time in ages, your nose burns with the threat of oncoming tears.

You clear your throat and dash your hands over your eyes. In your rush to stave off the tears, you end up knocking Raphael’s hand off of your shoulder. The loss of his touch is all the worse knowing that his retreat is your fault.

You want it back. You want Raphael close. Your mouth opens and closes without sound, your words trapped behind the lump in your throat.

Frustrated and torn by your want to be held and your need to hold yourself together, you push your fists against your eyes and turn your face into your pillow. You let out a long breath in a rush.

The room is silent save for the squeaks of the mattress springs as Raphael shifts his position. He doesn’t say anything when he brings your hands down from your face. He’s quiet as he slides one of his hands over your shoulder and down your back. You don’t even think he’s breathing until you’re safely nestled within his embrace.

“I don’t need you to pity me,” you mumble as he wraps you up in his arms.

“Pity? What pity?” With your cheek resting on his bicep, the soft caress of his fingers over your scalp eases your mind. His lips move against your hairline as he speaks. “You keep braggin’ about all that body heat. I'm just cashin’ in."

The lie is as much a comfort as the hand rubbing circles up and down your spine.

A low churr vibrates within Raphael’s chest as you trace the lines of his plastron. It takes you by surprise; you think it may take Raphael by surprise, as well. Still, he settles. You trace the line that divides his pectorals again. And when the churring picks up, it’s so strong it tickles the tips of your fingers.

As if his response to your touch isn’t encouragement enough, Raphael inches toward you until you yield to your own desire and close the rest of the gap. The tension in Raphael's muscles relax, and his arms wrap around you in full.

"I'm pretty friggin' cold," he admits like maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world. "So, I’m thinkin’ that I maybe gotta hold onto ya for a little while."

"Mhmm,” you hum, burrowing into the crook of his shoulder. “Can’t let all my work rescuing you go to waste." Your lazy smile curls against the warming skin of Raphael’s neck and your eyes drift closed once more.

As you sink into each other’s embrace, Raphael rests his cheek upon your head. "Exactly my point."

Dreamily, you agree, "It's a good one."

#Raphael x gender neutral reader #TMNT Raphael x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #Raphael x reader #TMNT Raphael x reader #TMNT Raphael #Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #TMNT 2014/16 #bayverse raphael #bayverse tmnt

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spookyceph · 4 years

Text

Comfort Zone Pt. 1

A Shigaraki & Toga fic! Because the League becoming friends is just about my favorite thing ever. Also, it's running long, so I split it into two parts.

Rating: T and up

Relationships: Shigaraki Tomura & Toga Himiko, Dabi/Shigaraki Tomura (hints of)

Warnings: Swearing, anxiety attacks, disturbing thoughts, self-harm (in the form of Shigaraki’s scratching), mentions of blood

Even after shoving the door to the downstairs bathroom shut and locking it behind him, Tomura couldn’t convince his heart to stop slamming against his ribs like a caged animal.

How he’d let this happen—why he’d allowed it to—he couldn’t begin to piece together. He’d been so pissed when Dabi had intruded on his solitude at the bar. But then…then the bastard had started talking. Worse, he’d made sense. As if that hadn’t been enough, Dabi had given him a gift before leaning in close, so close, close enough to touch—touch!—his face, to tangle warm fingers in his hair, and shitshitfuckinghellwhatwashesupposedto—

Gasping for the air that had suddenly abandoned the room, Tomura sagged against the sink. No. The walls were not closing in on him. He wasn’t about to suffocate. His brain was just convinced that was the case because it was busy drowning in swells of adrenaline and anxiety. One hand flew up to his neck. The sting of his nails ripping open new furrows across old scratches caused his flailing thoughts to freeze. Seizing the opportunity, he groped for another lifeline.

“W-white counter. Lavender soap. Blue…fuck.” He gouged his nails deeper, countering anxiety’s own claws in his guts. “Blue. The fucking goddamn towel is blue. Like his—”

The resulting jolt of shock at what had nearly escaped his mouth knocked panic’s grip right off of him.

Tomura turned the sink faucet on and stuck his icy, quaking hands under the warm stream of water. The sensation of it flowing and sliding between all five of his fingers like nothing solid could helped ground him further. Cupping his palms, he caught enough to splash onto his face and scrub away the clammy sheen of stress sweat. Too late, he remembered the fresh coating of salve. Droplets raining down his cheeks and chin, Tomura lifted his head to confront his reflection.

Cracked and crinkled rice paper skin. Beauty mark like a droplet of ink to one side of his mouth. Vertical scar splitting the symmetry of his lips. White wisps of hair that Kurogiri had long since stopped suggesting he comb curling every which way. Eyes as round and rawly red as the healing exit wounds that shitheel Snipe had given him as parting gifts. Or the thin streams of blood trickling from his shredded neck, soaking into his shirt. The same list of features he’d had as long as he could remember—no more than fifteen years back before recollections slid into oblivion, admittedly, but long enough. Tomura squinted, studying each one, struggling to imagine what they might look like through eyes the bright blue of lightning.

Don’t expect me to share my chapstick, though. You’re on your own with that one, creep.

Tomura’s jaw tightened until his temples throbbed. Sensei had once had him take some standardized tests from the most prestigious schools in the country, just to show him how narrow society’s thinking could be. He’d aced every one…yet he’d walked right into Dabi’s little joke. The bastard had probably laughed all the way back to his room at Tomura’s gullibility. Even with half his skin barbequed, face full of staples and stitches like a campy horror movie character, he’d obviously been born a golden child, tall and beautiful and strong. Probably doted on by everyone around him until whatever little accident had tarnished his shine. Driven into the dark of the underworld, he still retained the same entitled attitude. Someone like Tomura—no pedigree, no social standing, and thus no need to kiss anyone’s ass—would be vermin to him.

Think of this another way. As a show of trust.

There. Better?

Here. Keep it. Should last awhile.

The righteous fire in Tomura’s chest dwindled and fizzled. A smaller but much more alarming warmth kindled along his cheekbones. Okay, fine. Dabi’s expression hadn’t belonged to a purebreed staring down his nose at a stray mongrel when he’d said those things, but so damn what? He’d smirked and teased and bulldozed right through every boundary he found.

Why, then, hadn’t Tomura erased his annoying existence from the world? Or at least beat some respect into him? Just because he’d been nice for two seconds? Tomura preferred to think he wasn’t so pathetic that he could be swayed by such an insignificant gesture.

People always show their real selves when they’re pissed.

The tang of copper coated his tongue as he chewed on his nails—his second favorite method to tear himself apart. What if…what if insults and arrogance were tactics? Ways for Dabi to gather intelligence and gain the upper hand? Tomura did much the same on the rare, awful occasions he had to interact in public, just in the opposite direction—he pretended to be a harmless drone of hero society like everyone else. In that light, Dabi’s intentions had been genuine even though his approach relied on deception.

Aloof characters who nevertheless gave their all for the party when it came down to it were always the most useful in games. Not to mention usually Tomura’s favorites.

Right. That concluded his thinking about the subject for the night. Or eternity.

Door opened a crack, Tomura peeked out into the hallway. Not a soul. He cocked his head, listening. Not a whisper or peep. Mindful of every creaky floorboard, he crept out. Slunk upstairs like a thief in his own base of operations. Hardly dared to breathe until he’d shut and locked the door to his room behind him.

Nerves still crawling beneath his skin, Tomura glanced over at the laptop sitting on the small desk against one wall. To the TV mounted on the other, framed by shelves of games to various consoles. He would’ve liked nothing more than to have a glowing screen absorb his attention, but he knew his focus was too scattered to play anything. Scanning the online news feeds would yield nothing but chatter about Stain or All Might—his fingers latched back onto his neck just thinking about it. He couldn’t wear himself out with training since that meant going back downstairs to use the mats and equipment in the basement. No fucking way was he setting foot in the bar for the next few days. Maybe not for years.

He knew he shouldn’t have let anyone stay here. Now he was trapped, a prisoner in his own goddamned room, all because he’d let an overcooked piece of human yakitori put his soft, stapled hands on him, and—

The rising swells of panic dropped and went utterly still as Tomura’s eyes darted to his closet. Of course. Such an obvious answer. He should’ve known what to do from the beginning.

Aah, you poor thing. What are you so afraid of? All you have to do is follow your heart.

As always, Sensei had provided for him.

Sliding one side of the closet open, Tomura picked up a long wooden box from its resting place beneath his neatly hung clothing. He gently set it in the middle of the room before retrieving a cloth from his desk. Sitting on his heels in front of the box, he wiped a few stray specks of dust from its lacquered surface. Though his memory of receiving it (not to mention its contents) remained lost somewhere in the murky haze of his childhood, the familiar action alone reassured him. Sensei had instructed him to care for it and he had, polishing it every week without fail for fifteen years.

Sleeves over the heels of his palms to prevent smudges, Tomura carefully lifted the lid.

The stench of formaldehyde sprang out immediately. It reached straight down his throat and clenched his guts with corrosive fingers. Despite the urge to vomit everything in his body cavity up, a mantle of calm settled over Tomura’s shoulders. As wretched, as vile, as stomach-wringing as they were, the sensations were familiar. They’d woven themselves into his makeup as tightly as his DNA. The same could be said for what lay inside the box.

Paler even than him against their nest of black coffin velvet, fourteen human hands lay in two neat rows. Well, thirteen—one was merely a replica, a replacement. The metal caps on the wrists gleamed sallow gold under the room’s light. Poised on the razor’s edge between sickened and serene, Tomura reached for them in the usual order.

First, the smallest ones, curled around his wrists. A larger pair with aged, wrinkled skin and knobby knuckles clamped to his biceps next. A similar but slimmer version of those followed on his forearms. The hands with the longest, loveliest fingers encircled his neck in fourth place. Two sets of brutish, blocky ones latched onto his shoulders, then his sides just beneath his arms.

Naturally, the best he saved for last.

Tomura fixed the replica to the back of his head almost absently. His attention was reserved for its partner: a left, the largest hand, the father of its macabre little family. He lifted it with the same care a collector would a preserved butterfly. With a fingertip he mapped out the valleys and ridges of bones and strong sinew along the back. Turning it over, he traced the lifeline etched across its palm that had most definitely lied. The way the scar cleaving his lips tingled and burned had nothing to do with the savage grin that split Tomura’s face. He rubbed his chin to be sure the feeling of blood drooling down it was only a phantom from his buried past.

He didn’t need to know its origins to realize how special Father was.

Revulsion and exhilaration surged up from his center as he pressed the precious memento mori over his face like a mask. His roiling emotions alchemized into something he had yet to name, its crystallized shape strange but stable. At last, the feel of cold, waxen flesh molded to his cheeks, of stiff, dead fingers in his hair, chased away the fantasy of hot, living ones. At last, he could think.

With a relieved sigh, Tomura replaced the box’s lid and stood. After feeling trapped, he needed the reassurance of space. He went to his room’s narrow window, pushed aside the curtains, disarmed the little tripwire surprise he’d rigged, and pushed the bottom pane up so he could slither out onto the fire escape.

The night air reeked of the refuse piled in the alley below. This definitely wasn’t high on his list of favored spots, but it was better than nothing. At least the temperature was being kind to his skin, not too warm or humid, not to cool or dry. The rusty skeleton of the fire escape squeaked as he settled himself on the mesh bottom, hugging his knees. Staring up at the void of the sky, a few stars visible through Father’s embalmed fingers, wasn’t so bad either. Everything he could see was warped, discarded, halfway down the path to total ruin. It almost made him feel at home.

A home with dynamics that had changed overnight. But…like it or not he had two new roommates—with more to come, according to Giran. Tomura didn’t have the kind of power to reduce hero society to rubble and ash on his own. Not yet. In the meantime, he had to make do with the next best thing: strength in numbers. It was just…he got so anxious. The concept of living with anyone aside from Kurogiri was bizarre, the thought of having to interact daily with strangers unsettling.

Yet even someone as powerful, as feared and dreaded as Sensei didn’t work alone. If his mentor hadn’t turned his nose up to cooperating with select people, who was Tomura to? He grimaced behind Father, but he could already feel resolve seeping between the seams in his thoughts. One way or another, he’d learn to tolerate his houseguests and how best to use their skills for the greater goal.

Maybe it was his years martial arts training that picked up on some subtle shift in the air. Déjà vu prickled along the back of Tomura’s neck. His head snapped toward the perceived threat on his right.

He caught a flash of a blonde-haired head just before it ducked back inside the next window over.

I’m Toga! Toga Himiko! It’s hard to live!

“Wait,” came from Tomura’s mouth before his conscious mind registered the action. “I’m sorry. About how I acted earlier.” The surprise of those words, in that order, coming from him fell flat compared to the shock of realizing he wasn’t lying.

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